I was your fire, But she was gasoline.

I wanted to write out the dream I had last night. For it was the most vivid dream that I'd had in a long time. Instead of writing it here though, I only wrote it in my notebook. There it will stay; to be pondered and molded into something good. Either way, it ended in the most depressing way, as far as any 'chick flick' storyline goes. I wonder if I cried in my sleep while I cried in the dream. I wonder if that feeling of emptiness, which I've felt few times before in reality, can ever truly come to pass again. Even with my resolve, I suppose I am susceptible to such mistakes as this. After all; I am a girl. And in my dream, no matter how much he wanted to choose me, no matter the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, the gait of his walk, the meaning of his words. He still left with her. He still always chooses her. She is the one that wins. Though, I wasn't trying to fight this battle. I still loose. When I didn't even attempt to win this war, why does defeat still hurt this hard?