Imagination
I don't want everyone to think you were my only imagination. Were.. strange word, doesn't it? If you're not my imagination, I should say are as if you are here. But, the truth and seemingly, the fact, is that you aren't here now.
I still try to picture you in every woman I meet. I never believe about what John used to say, that you are special. That you are different. That you are the one.
Were...but, you are not a present-tense. You are a past-tense. For me. For everyone.
Those memories I have on yours, those texts I locked in my phone. Weren't they real? Were they not just my only imagination? The picture of you are alive and breathing, the picture of you smilling when see me on telly, is that just only my imagination?
I don't know.
I never experienced such a complexity as known as sentiment. I just know that I always believe you're living and breathing, somewehere. I refuse to believe you are dead. Not yesterday, not today, not tomorrow.
I know one thing, tho.
You are not my imagination, Irene Adler. We know it better.
fin