The death of a fantasy

Am I allowed to grieve ideas

Can I cry for broken dreams

The light that used to guide me

In the dark no longer beams

Can I miss someone who wasn’t

and will not be, ever, mine

The person (in my mind) I loved

For whom I greatly pine

Can fantasy be more than real

So real it starts to hurt

If fantasy’s what drives us

Could fantasy have greater worth?

For I miss him, often

A feeling I could not explain

How a love, constructed in one’s head

Still causes so much pain