I Imagine

Somewhere out there, there's a kind, considerate man who has no idea that I think about him all the time. He writes intelligently, he's funny, we have the same interests. I know he values family, but I don't think he has any close relatives. He is respectful, which I don't see in many men these days.

It's ridiculous how the mind can conjure up images. I think about how he may look. What his life is like. I imagine visiting him, seeing his world.

I guess it's probably better to just keep imagining.

Reality sucks sometimes.