The memory of us faded as quickly as it had came.
A superstitious fantasy with half-anaesthetised anxiety and lying words repeated over and over.
Endless rhythmic variations.
I didn't care how often it would lift the tempo just enough to make sure I was still able to wake up to the hallucinate.
Yet I knew I wouldn't be able to get your name out of my head. I knew that something was appallingly, irrevocably wrong.
I knew I wouldn't be able to look at you without seeing this thing of us, in a highly disturbed state. Yet still smiling.
Looking at all the nighty-nine ways it could go wrong, but focusing on the one way it could go right.