When a person has no other persons he invents them because he was not designed to be alone, because it isn’t good to be alone.
-Donald Miller
And so I wonder at times if I have invented you. If all of this was some sort of dream, a figment of my imagination. Like in the end, this will all have been an illusion of the “Fight Club” or Shyamalan sort. The large portrait of you applying mascara could be just an empty frame. My memory of you applying that mascara, and of me taking the photo, just something that I created so that I wouldn’t feel so alone.
Are the ghosts that I feel of you in this house truly just ghosts? Was it just a ghost all along? Did I really take those walks with you recently? Those dinners?
I do feel so alone at times. I do anything I can to avoid it, but sometimes you have to face it. Was it all a dream? You sleeping beside me, was that just a pillow like I realize it is now.
Donald had his Emily Dickinson, a live-in creation wrought from words on a page. Maybe you are just my Emily, wrought from a dream of my utmost desires. A “Weird Science” type creation. Are you there? Here? Were you ever?
Say yes, and wake me from this insanity.