My favorite memories of you are completely made up. I lie there for hours in the dark, eating tuna sandwiches and reading your poetry, imagining that each girl you wrote about was me. We've gone on amazing adventures and late night walks and did lots of drugs, until my cat jumps on my lap and reminds me that I'm not adventurous, not nocturnal, and definitely not a druggie. I've cried into your shoulder till I fall asleep, and then I wake up alone. We had a terrible fight, at least, on my lined paper smudged with ink. It may sound weird to you that I imagine our life together, but I'm so lonely and you're so safe and I can't stand not being with you, even if it's an alternate reality. I just hope that one day it could all be real.