Fantasy versus reality

In the quiet of the morning's light,  
A soul stirs, with no hope in sight,  
Born a lover, heart so pure,  
Forced to be a cinnamon girl, unsure.

In a world where dreams collide,  
She lives within her mind, inside,  
A boy so perfect, sculpted fine,  
Intelligent, kind, but merely a sign.

He’s the love she’s never known,  
An imaginary prince on a fleeting throne,  
No warmth, no touch from the world outside,  
So in her fantasy, she seeks to hide.

What is love, she starts to wonder,  
Is it a storm or gentle thunder?  
Is it unseen, a mere illusion,  
Or just a dream, a sweet delusion?

Will we wake and see it clear,  
Or is love something we hold dear?  
What does it mean to truly feel,  
To know that love is safe, and real?

Is it protection, a guarded space,  
Or simply a feeling we can’t replace?  
If love exists, then let it be,  
A guide, a light for her to see.

In the real world, she hopes to find,  
A love that’s safe, gentle, and kind,  
To break the chains of fantasy’s hold,  
And feel what it means to be truly told:

"You are loved, you are seen,  
In this world, you’re not a dream."