That night haunts me like I might as well have committed a ******. Your tongue tastes like a longing for cigarettes and those last four shots of "just having fun" but I'm not supposed to know that. You proceed to tell me I'm a dream come true right before she calls you because she had a nightmare. How ironic it is that she runs to you for comfort when you're the one creating lies as you speak through the phone at 6am with me lying by your side. I wake up from only an hour of sleep and find myself in your bed and whisper "it's not real" as you roll over and pull me closer as if I'm yours. I'll go about my day with a hangover in the place of my dignity and occasionally the memories come up with the alcohol. I'm starting to think it was actually the thoughts that made me feel so sick.