Daydreamer

This isn’t what you think. I’m not what you think. You’re not even what you think you are. I’m not really here anymore. Not really, no, I’m not here. I’m not here sitting on your couch and I’m not here watching your television. I’m not here. I’m not too sure I ever was here in the first place.

I’m far, far away in a plane on the way to Paris.

I’m pretending to be something that I’ll never be.

I’m speaking to a young man in a language not my own.

I’m beautiful, so far away from you.

I’m not here. I’m gone. I’ve gone. I’m not watering your dying plants. I’m not sleeping in your over starched sheets. I am not here.

I’m too far away to hear you moaning my name. I’m so far away, separated by oceans and measurable time.

And the miles are made of pure sugarcane fields. And the distance is laced with roses. The countries are made up of rabbit burrows. I’m too far away to care. I’m too far away to hear you complain. I’m too far away to remember.

This isn’t what you think. I haven’t gone off the deep end quite yet.

I’m just waiting for you at the edge of reality, so far, far away.