My little friend. I’m with her. When she’s lonely, and when she’s not. I am the perfect friend. I am an actual friend, her only friend. She told me she would never forget me. And she didn’t. Until she did. Then I turned from a friend that she knew to an imaginary friend, a lonely one too. She’s forgotten about me, she does not see me. My only friend, now grown and gone. And I will stay, forever this way, because of who I am. If only my friend would remember my name, and then I would be complete. But now she is married, and she doesn’t need me. She has all the friends that she could ever want. Why would she want me? Now she is retired, with three kids. Her husband just died, and I cannot console her. All her friends have either failed her or forgotten her, but I have never left. If only my friend could see that, then I would be satisfied. If only she could see that I was just more than Imaginary. I am a friend, a confidante, a mentor, a companion. I am more than just an imaginary friend after all, even if no one can see it.