Sometimes I feel sorry for you. I remember how you said you loved me. You truly did. But what of me? You loved what you’d made me. You loved the skin you’d crafted me into. And when I finally ripped out of it and revealed my true self, you recoiled. I left the hollow shell of the girl you loved and walked away. And I never looked back.
We all have our own time machine. Those that take us to the past are memories. Those that take us to the future are dreams.