It's 4 in the morning, and the silence is making me uncomfortable. It's always the things that you can't hear, or never will hear. The things that kill you slowly, on the inside. Not knowing why. Why didn't he love me back? Why didn't I try harder? Why wasn't I good enough? I used to have dreams that I described as future nostalgia. They had that same warm and sweet feeling that you get when you remember something, or perhaps someone, that you loved. But they were for events that hadn't happened yet. They were so vivid, so specific and detailed, they were memories. But the people in these memories were absent, and instead replaced by faceless silhouettes. They were promises, promises of love and friendship waiting to be fulfilled. And when I met him, I could see him perfectly. The perfect match. The missing piece. Except puzzle pieces don't tell you they don't like you back. And now it's me and him. We're in the same place and same time as the memory I will one day have. Except one thing is wrong. Everything.
