Sometimes I imagine that you’re here, here with me. And that I’m talking to you, telling you everything. Sometimes I imagine that you are watching me cry, and that you’re telling me everything is alright.

Sometimes I imagine you care about me more than you do.

Sometimes I imagine that you’d stay with me. That you’d stay with me and talk to me all night. Sometimes I imagine… imagine you telling me.

Telling me everything.

Sometimes I imagine, and everything feels better.

And then I realize that none of it... none of it ever happened.