A thin flame separates dreams and nightmares.
A fearsome nightmare.
Fears of fulfilled what ifs of despair.

'What if' , it never healed.
'What if' , it never changed.
'What if' , it was never meant to be.
'What if' , it wasn't for me.

The petals of a wild flower,
crossed my window the other day.
Asking me, 'whether' it could be saved.
Asking me 'whether' it had a future now,
for it was beautiful still.
Asking me 'whether' it could be worthy of a young lovers catch.
Could it be a tender kiss, on another maiden's cheek in the far away wheat fields, of some european village.
Asking me 'whether' it could fly away and the blonde hair of a newborn dove, it match?

Seeking answers for 'whether',
he drifted off to the 'what ifs of despair'?
Dreams were never caught but the petals' nightmares caught it with the first blow of air.

It could never know 'whether',
its own 'what ifs' blew it away with the dust.
There could never be a 'whether'.
The 'what ifs' were a must.

Could I have a 'whether',
'cause one is beautiful still.
Will, the 'what if' catch me first,
the 'what if,' will?

© aashvanshi writes