You exist when I feel most alone, when I’m cooking dinner or scrolling through my phone.

You sit while I complete my mundane tasks; you don’t say much but sometimes we laugh to help time pass.

Your presence, though it is not much, is more than enough because you somehow never judge.

Your impartial silence is more to me than a disapproving voice or a heavy hand throwing my gentle thoughts around my scattered mind.

It is only when I sit so alone, outside my window, watching the world go by that I have to come to the realisation that you are nothing but my imagination.

Like a strange fixation, a game my psyche has made up to keep me sane.

Only existing because of the chemical imbalances inside my brain.

And that is where you live, in between the unorganised wires.

You sit quietly.

You make me question myself.

My want for love.

Maybe each time that I fantasise about you, it is not about love.

I believe it never has been -rather my desire to finally be seen, because love is the lie that keeps us alive.