An ex girlfriend that I never had, an idealized picture of the flawed obsession that I held for so many months, a strange dream. Watching the world go by from a Moroccan mud brick café, thinking about her, this imaginary entity. Pondering life as one might do in conscious existence, however asleep and dreaming.

She brought me caramels and cream, as a gift to ease my pain, this idealized girl. She watched me play games in the hellish woods of my youth. Somewhere deep inside a twitter, a feeling, a shard of something. As the horrible nightmare rolled on, I began to realize exactly what this soul infection was. Hope.

This was the line between the imagined and reality.