“the appeal of the other is himself”

I have said previously that words could not define enough the feelings I have for you, nor does it define what we are to each other.  But I cannot stop to think anymore that you exist because my mind makes you to be.  You would think that all the dreams, the fantasies, the scenarios of me casually bumping into you and craning my neck casually to see if I would be caught off guard with that megawatt smile of yours that never fails to hide behind the life you are living without me.

Isn’t it surprising that I have to live with the two “yous?” I have to live with the fact that I see you in this spectrum, in this reality, and I meet you again in my head on the flipside.  I’m not so sure anymore if I can even define who you are because in truth, I never really knew who you were.  I only pretended to know you because I imagine you to be so.  I overthink your actions.  I overthink the moments we have as our own.  I overthink the times when we would share the minutes, the hour to be ours.  And so it seems that there is a bit of mineness to it.  I own this time of ours, not because I have my name stamped on it, but because it means so much to me that I have kind of labeled it as mine, even if you don’t see it as yours.

One thing I could never answer though is this: do I really like you for you or do I only like the fantasy version of you? You know, the one where in some universe you like me and I like you and the actions I thought would never occur as something directed toward me was in fact meant for me and only me? Multiverses, I wish, were possible because at least I know that in one of them, I have you.  But sadly, they don’t.  Or at least, I haven’t learned about any of them.  Don’t you find it so funny that my attachment towards you gives me this involuntary power to create a universe inside my head to have whatever I want and whenever I want? Isn’t it amazing how we could all do that?

But no.  I wake up everyday to this reality.  I wake to this reality where you don’t exist as one with me, but separate.  I wake to this reality where instead of touching your arm, my hand passes through you like a ghost, and you sit there, oblivious to whatever is happening.  You sit there with your smile, your eyes full of sincerity, not knowing all these moments only ring true in my head.


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