I spend hours in my imaginary world

In a rectangular prism, covered with what they call as mattress cover and bedsheet, I lay. The inside is cushion, and am I comfortable? Maybe...

My mind goes elsewhere. I lay and I seek something. So I go there in my imaginary world. I spend hours, thinking of you. What better else is there to do?

Boy, am I wasting time?

I am.

But what better else is there to do?

Tell me...

I spend hours, in my cushion. It shoots me to another world. And I see a vague you. And I am trying my best to create a better picture.

I ask myself if I could ever let go. Could I?

If I let go, I am afraid I won't ever enjoy this life I have chosen. In between chores and jobs and tasks, I look at your face and I smile. But you're not real. I just see you in the hemisphere I created for myself.

I talked to your cute little sister. She has no idea. Or she has but she isn't making it obvious.

Her friend talks about you and they're both fond of you. So maybe, you are just that thought of others as well. And I'm okay with it. After all, you're a great sight to many.

I long for the day I will finally realize what is in this fantasy. But too many is at stake. I can't risk anything. If only there is a smoother way than going through all the challenges and judgments.

And I thought of making everything a secret. Will you agree just in case?

Bliss is way better than publicity with all the judgements and gossip.

But right now, I am spending my time in my imaginary world. When will I realize this fantasy is as absurd as our age gap.

First, let me look better than my present condition. And I will see how you see me. Will there ever be a hope for us? I wonder.

I try to lurk and find you, in this fantastic world I have, but it's just a blur that I am seeing.

Let me create a better picture. Of your serious face, broad back, slim figure and your sweet voice. I try kissing you but it's way too hopeless to do that.

I try to emulate your real actions on your vague image on my imagination. But effort is too much I'm losing patience.

I stumble and cry. I question why? Why are we never on the same page?

If I get born again and have a next life, will you be living the same age as me? Or in the next are we total strangers?

Let me then just be content with this one. I see you from time to time but I always see you anyway. Because in my fantasy world, no matter how blurry you look, I always try to create an image of you.

The other day, when I saw you on my way, I tried doing a neutral look. But men, you were looking at me and I pretended I didn't see you.

I tend to give meaning to all of those. My smile is as wide as the ocean, thinking about it. I wish there is more to that.

But then in your youth there is just so much on your plate so I'm not expecting anything more. Let me just be glad I get to see gestures like that.

I wonder how else I should go about painting a picture of you in my imaginary world where I spend hours thinking of you.

Sometimes I wish it's real.