And it wakes them in the middle of the night to know ... (Original poem by Thaakirah Savahl)

It wakes her in the middle of the night to know
That she had died on his lips
He drained her of her essence,
And all she had become
Was a dreary soul.

In her dreams, she would search;
Search for perfection.
And each time that she thought she'd stumbled upon it
Imperfection would seize it.
Nothing but her own imperfections.

It wakes him in the middle of the night to know
That he had lost all hope on her lips.
Her essence was his vision of love
Yet the ideal was shattered,As all he had left,
Was her dreary soul

He was far from flawless,
But that was his sublimity.
He was lost before he stumbled upon her
Yet perfection seized it.
Nothing but his own desire to be perfect for her.

Unrested eyes upon troubled faces.
It exposed the rip in each of their chests.
They were incomplete by themselves, yet together they were unfitting.
And it kept them awake at night to know,
That they misplaced themselves in one another.