That night I was telling her a story!

That night I was telling her a story.
A story that I had written.
A story that I told everybody
that I made up,
while everybody except her knew
That it was not a story
It was my 21 years of life
Compiled in approximately
Two hundred and fifty words.

That night I was telling her a story
A story she seemed to be interested in,
A story she knew was everything
That I wanted the world outside
To believe as fiction.

That night I was telling her a story
Of all that had happened to me
Including the failures
That broke me, tore me, made me;
The kind of failures that taught me
How un-important it is to lust and drool
Over those notions of success.

That night I was telling her a story
From my heart without the dictation
Of my head and logic.
It had all my passions, fantasies, dreams
And lots more of magic.

That night I was telling her a story
While she was looking at me with
Her closed eyes under that white sheet
In which she was covered with;
She was not breathing,
But I knew she was alive
She had promised me
She wouldn’t die
And I believed her.

And so, that night I was telling her a story.