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Fabrication
04 August 2003 @ 11:55 p.m.
I miss him. He�s always on my mind creating a sense of longing and sadness. No, it isn�t J, though I cannot deny he is part of it. �He� is the fantasy, the dream, the ideal. I miss thinking that the fantasy is out there. I�ve begun to form clouds of perfection around male friends, such as Chewba. I�ve begun to think I was wrong years ago when I told him we would not work out. I�ve begun to erase the doubts and cover him with this blanket of grandeur.
The fantasy is gone now. Again. Reality found me. I hate it when reality knocks the dreams away. Even the magical fantastic world books provide cannot bring it back quickly, if at all this time. I clung to that fantasy, to him.
My reality is no different than others, but the fantasy world, man, friendships, house � I am inside of it. Days like these pull me out so quickly it hurts. The pain is so intense that the longing for him is back, though it hurts more since I know he doesn�t exist. His strong arms to hold me are not there, they are not real. The unconditional love is a fabrication of my overactive imagination, not a reflection of the real.
I miss him, my ideal. I still long for him to be real. It�s times like these when I hate reality.
currently reading: Jemima J � Jane Green
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