My imagination is my way of escaping reality, I love imagining myself living my dream life sometimes, with a family in a big house in the middle of nowhere, sunflowers, and tulips growing all around.

The most beautiful sunset every night.

Happy, I was happy. I wish it was real, it devastated me every time I opened my eyes to see the crushing reality of it all, I lay there, staring at my bedroom ceiling trying my hardest not to tear up.

But even in those moments of sadness, I held onto the hope that one day, I'd turn those dreams into reality. Maybe even too hopeful.

There is a boy, a golden haired boy. His curls shining in the sunlight as he laughs and runs through the fields of flowers, a picture-perfect image of what my heart yearns for.

He’s apart of my dreams, he represents my yearning to be loved, unconditionally and to create beautiful moments together. I imagine his laughter filling our home, his joy radiating everywhere.

It crushes me to know none of this is real, that if I were to open my eyes I would still be alone in the quiet starkness of my room.

What would he do if he saw me like this? Unhappy, trapped in my own melancholy? Would he reach out to me, try to comfort me with his innocent warmth? That’s silly. He’s just apart of my imagination, nothing more.

The boy might be a figment of my imagination, but the emotions he stirs in me are entirely real. I wish I could see him all the time, I wish I could see his golden curls and illuminating smile But I know, deep down, he's only a dream.

It had been a long day, I fell into my bed, exhausted. It was a horrible day, I had been getting bullied at school. For being black. I couldn’t change my race, so what was I to do?

It hurt.

I imagined that golden-haired boy standing up for me, defending me with a voice so powerful yet so kind. I imagined him hugging me, comforting me, wiping my tears, telling me my skin was beautiful, telling me how he loved how my skin glistened in the sunlight.

It brought a warmth within, a fleeting sense of comfort. I wish he was real. He was my escape, my comfort.

One day, I saw a father, throwing his daughter up and down in his arms, the little girls face lighting up, laughing. It felt wrong of me to feel so envious, my dad had passed away when I was seven.

I yearned for that kind of joy, the kind I knew I'd never get back.

The girl and her dad smiled at me, I smiled back, waving. As I walked away tears flooded my eyes. I couldn’t stop them . With each tear that fell, I felt a mixture of longing and an intense need for someone to truly see me.

I walked home, wiping my tears, bumping into someone, “oh I am so sorry” I exclaimed ; looking up at him. A pair of warm, kind eyes looked down at me, "It's alright," he said softly. He had golden curls, just like the boy. He was breathtaking. Maybe i was just seeing things, maybe it was my foggy eyesight.

But the gorgeous golden curled boy hugged me, and I felt all my loneliness melt away It was like he could see right through my pain, enveloping me in a warmth I hadn't felt in years.

I heard a ringing, I looked down at my phone, my alarm going off. ‘I should have been home by now’ I thought to myself.

“Thank yo-“ I looked up. And he was gone. Gone, like a fleeting moment of hope. My heart felt heavier than before, but at least, for a brief second, I had felt seen.

I guess some moments are meant to be memories, even if they’re just dreams.