You didn't love me, you loved the idea of me. You loved the memories we could have made together -- the memories of a person you dreamed of when you lie awake at night praying that every senseless hope would spark an eternal flame that only existed in your mind because in reality we were never meant to be. I was the hero in a comic book, and you were the writer who put forth their blood, sweat, and tears into a beautiful peice of work that would never be published. But dreams never do come true, and most especially not me and you.