The schizophrenic leaves his medication untouched, for he knows his hallucinations are simply that, and nothing more. I, encapsulated by my own literal haunts, yearn for that sort of acceptance.

In the wake of the night, I was compelled to call you for the first time since a figurative forever. A shot in the dark, for it was morning where you were, a time of day that still does not exist to you on weekends. Yet as the dial tone droned on, I questioned this move to my checkmate – those gray-blue eyes have lost their livelihood in my crumbling memories. And so I prayed for the voicemail beep, and it came.

You messaged, hours later, though I had long fallen asleep to a chaos that is my own thoughts. That basic message was an exchange for my previous phone call, perhaps the one reminder I needed that you never knew how to meet a girl in the middle. That I suppose, is our happily-never-after.

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