She comes when I am the most vulnerable,
The time that we all beget our woes,
When time means nothing, a mere technicality.
It is then that she appears,
Never in the same form,
For better or for worse.
Sometimes she is a grandiose lover,
The one we have always needed,
A person to devote your life to.
Othertimes she is just there,
Nothing more than this,
No feelings from her or me.
Once she was a delinquent,
One without remorse or care,
But yet there were feelings.
Why am I haunted,
Night after Night?
What is it that she seeks?
An apparition of the mind,
Or a manifestation of something
That I seek.
But when I looked
For the object of my desire,
She was never there at night.
It was only when I found,
That for which I was seeking,
That she started to appear.
So it is a paradox of life,
Did love beget dream,
Or did dream beget love.