Alter Ego

What if I am just an idea formed in the
mind of another loner like myself?
Halfway across the globe, face pressed
against the windowpane, staring into the
pouring rain outside, wishing she had
somebody to call on—somebody to discuss
anything with, from what happened last
night up to the parts of a person they would
never let us love
Frozen lips blue with asphyxiation pressed
up against the warm lips of the coffee cup
possibly the only lips she will ever get to
press up against in this lifetime of solitude
and peace and silence she had built for herself

And what if I was to reach out for my
imaginer’s doorknob in the middle of the
night like the hypothetical being that I am?
And instead of being only “an idea” or a
figment of her imagination, choose to
actually go cuddle with her under the
covers, where it is warm and nice unlike
the boys who have walked in and out of her
life—like she’d always wished somebody
would look down at my hands only to see
completely nothing
For after all that is what I am—nothing
But an idea

ctto: @teaxstains

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