Sadness on demand

Is it true that I can only find happiness with the images of those who do not excist?

I guess so, because I truly believe that there is one person for me to love, and that person is not real. Or I havn't found him yet. Yes, I wrote about him and me and then stopped because the pain I felt was to much for me to handle.

I've created memories around him and when I am in the right mood, I pull one out and start reliving those things.

Our meeting, the first kiss we shared underneath the pale moonlight sky, when the stars shone bright and the waves of the ocean could be heard. The smell of his hair, the color of his eyes when he was thinking about something impotant. They were the color of fading leaves in early autumn. A dark green with strokes of golden brown.

Or I think about how it would be if he was here. How we could be happy, together.
But we are not. He is somewhere (or not.) And I am here. I long to touch him, to stroke his hair. To kiss him for the first time again.

I'm so worried I might lose my mind dreaming of him. Because what do I have to live for. Maybe if I die, we will be together. Maybe not, because he is not real!

And that is what I have to remember.

Love,

Aledawn