An ex
girlfriend that I never had, an
idealized picture of the flawed obsession that I held for so many months, a strange dream. Watching the world go by from a
Moroccan mud brick
café, thinking about her, this imaginary entity. Pondering life as one might do in conscious existence, however asleep and
dreaming.
She brought me
caramels and cream, as a gift to ease my pain, this idealized girl. She watched me play games in the hellish
woods of my youth. Somewhere deep inside a twitter, a feeling, a shard of something. As the horrible nightmare rolled on, I began to realize exactly what this soul infection was.
Hope.
This was the line between the
imagined and
reality.