Fantasy 

Slow. Like molasses. Like melting butter. Like a solo. It was passion. Damn it was friction like no other. Please, we were good at the little things. At the extent of it all we were good. And out of the acrobatics we were cooler than polar bear’s toe nail. We were smoother than wax. It was very much like a symphony. I had you. You had me. But I had blinders on and I didn’t really have you. I never had you. It was all fantasy and wishful thinking. My therapist told me love is a fantasy and I’ve been thinking how I’ve made you a myth. How I made you godly in your clothing and in your abilities. Did I love you in reality? Or was it fantasy? I’m asking myself, trying to understand where I lost my mind in all this 

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