Her slender shapely form glided across the room and took a seat next to me.
“Hi.”, I despondently greeted.
“Hey what wrong?” her word caressed me with loving softness.
“Bang, I’m dead.”
“Hey, come on what’s eating you?”
“Could you maybe narrow it down a little?” the laughter behind her voice tried to tug at my own, but it simply didn’t work, not this time.
“No.”, a moment too late I realized how the word had a cutting edge I hadn’t really meant.She sighed, the laughter gone now, ”Fine, if you don’t want to talk I can’t make you.”
“Yes, you could… if you want to push the issue.”, I sounded like a petulant child, wrapped up in my own pain.
Her voice was soft again, tender, comforting, “Please, talk to me….”
Silence hung in the air as I searched for the words. Then it exploded out of me, rapid fire, like an accusation, against her or myself, I couldn’t say. “Okay, you want to know what’s wrong? It’s you. You’re what’s wrong. You’re not real, you’re a figment of my imagination. You’re everything I want, everything I need, and you aren’t real.”
“I’m as real as you make me.” She didn’t even hesitate in her answer.
“No, you don’t get it. I created you from the fabric of my mind, to be my perfect match, a soul mate, a perfect everlasting love … and there’s this … this void of reality that separates us. As much as I want you, you can’t be flesh and blood. I can’t make you a part of my reality.”
I collapsed into her, folding up like a fan, and the tears came.
Her fingers were gently running through my hair as she cradled my head.
“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” She paused a moment, “Perhaps, I can make you a part of my fantasies.”