It's a funny thing, being the girl that is only a figment, only a hazy dream.
I am not grounded in reality.
I will twist the memories, those insignificant dates, those looks you gave to me when your face hovered above my own.
I will grant them meaning, I will brush them to the wayside, to the shore, where they can be washed away and forgotten. But the tide comes in and the tide comes out, sure as night and day.
When the digital alarm clock by my bed switches its panels to 10:30 and my heart inverts, I know its time to think of you.
But is it you? Or are you nothing but a hologram blurred by the rain?
The reality is so displaced from the fantasy and where the line blurs, I don't know.