You told me a story about a fantasy land. You told me that the fantasy land had unique people who drunk away their sorrows all day and wrote art all night. You told me about how each day the people of the fantasy land bones would creak and they would laugh until it didn't hurt any longer. You whispered in my ear a promise that one day, when we were hurting enough, we'd visit the fantasy land of the blissfully forgotten. I sit here staring out at the water that never ripples and think of how somehow I made it to the land of drunken unicorns and decaying bones and forgotten souls and you didn't. And then I understood, I'm here because you forgot me, and you're not because I cannot forget you.