She held her other hand and intertwined her fingers.
she had him in mind. stuck in her own bubble of thoughts and imaginations.
She imagined it as his hands.
she doesn't know who, though. But she loved the thought of someone's hands intertwined with hers.
At night, she would talk endlessly into her phone.
It's not open, though. But she still talks and talk and talk until her story is finished.
She likes to think that she's talking to him on her phone.
She's not. She knows that.
The act just makes her feel less lonely.
It makes her feel as if someone would just love to listen to her rants and never ending stories or even about
how her day went.
She types her thoughts in the notes of her phone.
Thoughts that never made it out of her mouth.
Thoughts that she'd like to share with him.

And every time she does these things, reality slaps her hard in the face.
"Wake yourself up. It's never gonna happen."
And a tear always makes itself known as she opens her eyes.
And her happy fantasy crashes down as her heart did.

-F.T. 06.04.18