This Is Fiction

Swing the time machine backwards
To when we had our arms clinched.
Everytime you winked, I flinched.

Back to picnics on a lushy mountain
With your lips as a refreshing fountain.
Accidental brushes and deliberate touches.

The machine rolls back and I am here alone,
Memorizing your number and fondling my phone.
To wishes that never were.

Mindless fantasies allowed to accumulate,
Is this an alternative reality,I debate?
Everything here happened, if only you believed!


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