It’s Not Real
I dreamed of him again. The boy with the golden eyes. He was standing over me smiling, offering me his hand and without a moment of hesitation I reach out for him. Walking hand and hand to where the water meets the shore. I can feel the cold wind brushing against me, the water rushes over my feet and I feel scared. what is going on, where are we going, and why am I following this boy, this boy I don’t know but trust with every fiber of my being? The sun is . . .