He's Real

I just woke up from the weirdest dream ever.

We were at school, but not our school.

We were in the bathroom, but not the bathroom.

We were writing about god, but not about god.

And then somehow it was just me and you, kid.

And somehow your arm was around me.

And you said the same thing you said to me last time we talked.

You know that time you walked me back to school for no reason?

You said, "Hi."

And then I said, "Hi."

And then you leaned in closer and said, "Quality time, here."

And I said, "Sure, kid."

And then you kissed my cheek.

But it's weird, you know? Because you're That Kid, at school.

The one who wears t-shirts in winter, comes to class halfway through the afternoon,

plays music loud, but music absolutely no one's heard of, not even me.

You're the one who's AMAZING at guitar, but won't join the guitar ensemble for a million dollars.

The one who's just so...so indie, so metal, so tough, but sweet.

I don't even know.

You're every perfect guy from every teen book, but better, because you're real.

Maybe that's it.

You're Yourself. You're Real. 

And this dream? It's all happened before.

But why the fuck did you talk to me, anyway?

I. Don't. Talk.

You know that, Kid. You know that, because for some reason I told you.

I'M the secret keeper, not you.

Shut up.