(190 words) 28 Jan. 2018
By S.R.A. Markin
If things were different, and If I had a life with her that was real, unlike this one, we could have been happy. We could have kissed each other goodnight and good morning. We could grow tired of each other. Old. She can die lonely after me. But no, this life, these thoughts, this dream is all I have and soon to perish. What is the difference? There is no distinction between dreams and reality, life, and death. All are jokes. I laugh, and I smile because you think this is a joke, so I might as well too. But I wish it had been different, and it is much too late. Wishing gets me nothing. I have wasted my time, and this is the worst feeling. I have lost my time, and she is beautiful, inside and out. Her eyes. Her smile. Her touch. She stimulated the darkest depths of me, and awoken something inside, but only for a moment. I was too weak to keep it alive for long. I am inadequate to this world. She did everything to try and help me. She also wasted her time.