I like to pretend
That you notice I’m alive.
I make believe
That you hear what I have to say.
But every time you repeat the question,
I know that my imaginary,
Is in fact,
Only imaginary.
I thought that maybe you did notice.
Maybe you saw how I changed,
But never talked about it.
And all this time I thought no one cared enough
To see.
I wonder what I could have saved myself
Had I only known that you noticed.
But my dreams come crashing down yet again.
Killing me slowly inside.
While realizing
That my imaginary,
Is in fact,
Only imaginary.
*i was painting last night and i just started day dreaming that my mom started talking about how i had changed in the past little while... and then everything got better... and all that friggin fairytale shit. then this evolved*
