I dreamt this so reacurringly, it seemed so very real. I, in the dream, was seven, you and I were standing there, merely holding hands. But then you turned to leave. I called out, begging you to stay. You played me. You left and came back, and finally. Left. You, you got..caught up in other things, sluts, drugs, alcohol. I wans’t important enough. I guess I never am. I will love you, regardless if you do.