"But it was so real in my heart," I cried into my knees, pouring my feelings out to my mom. She patted my back, "I'm sorry, I wish I could make it real. But I can't, I'm so sorry you're hurting." She broke into tears.
"But you couldn't mom, it wasn't real." I try reassuring her. "But sometimes I still see his face, I look for his face in a crowded room. Or I'll look around for him in random strangers. Sometimes I still feel his hands on my skin or smell his cologne on my sheets. Sometimes, even though I know all of it wasn't real."