Who am I, and who are you?

There is not a night which passes
When I don't close my eyes
And create you.

But when I open them,
I find it hard to come back to my reality.
I wish I could live my dreams.

In this imagination you lay burrowed away
On a hillside, or on some sunny beach,
Or even imprinting your image onto the snow beneath you.

In one, the night's cold air gently breathes on you
As you rest against an old tree trunk,
Your body cuddling into itself, struggling for warmth.

You read from a book,
Using the moonlight
As your guide.

The pages turn.
Your mind stays connected,
As the story unfolds.

Your hands meet the final page,
Closing the book.
The last lines linger in your mind.

...So we beat on,
Boats against the current,
Borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Placing the book to your side,
You lay down against the soggy grass,
Staring upwards.

Your mind flares --
You begin to add clarity to your thoughts.
You begin to realize yourself.

It is invariably saddening
To look through new eyes at things upon which
You have expended your own powers of adjustment.

Creating You by Calvin