time waits for me, slowly
inching his way
to see what has captured my attention

and i laugh at his curiosity.
'building dreams' i say

drawing foundations in wisps of air
folding my hands into shapes
of clear things i see in my mind

'don't try too hard' he advises
(he, unfortunately, is too grounded
to reality )

'why?'

he fast-forwards the days
and takes me to the future,
to show me that my handmade dreams

have fallen to the ground, rundown by cars
and sneakers and bad days

and he continues, ' because they were never meant to exist
anyway'