Wearing flowers in her hair, and her only pretty dress,
She paints her lips a luscious red.
She twirls before the mirror a final time,
And slips into a bed that used to be soft.
But years changed it.
It doesn't matter though, because-
She knows who she'll meet tonight.
Sleep comes easily to her tired, violet eyes.
She never paid much attention to dreams,
Until now, when he started visiting,
Penetrating her subconscious.
She doesn't know him, or if he even exists…
But he visits every night, if that means anything.
In this reverie, they drink coffee at a café…
She didn't bother to ask where they were going-
When he came to pick her up in his car.
Coffee is just fine though, and they talk about philosophy.
The next day she runs outside on impulse,
And when she sees him there on a bench, reading the newspaper,
She whispers, "Déjà vu!"
So their eyes meet for the first time…