The boy who lived in that apartment...

Sometimes I cry more on a Monday, sometimes more on a Tuesday, sometimes least on a Wed., sometimes most on a lonely Sunday evening. Sometimes I laugh hysterically in the car by myself on a Thursday. Sometimes I feel nothing on a Friday. Sometimes I waved at the children in the neighborhood on Saturdays.

Of course, every day of the week, I have my moments of anger.

Days of the week just go by and I keep asking questions:

Was it a dream? Did my imagination make it up? Did he even exist? Did my powerful mind painted him in that apartment in Laguna Beach with a fire place and vaulted ceilings, hugging me upon opening the door, where I wanted to stay forever?

I think it was a dream. I think I have a very powerful mind.

I think I have to be wary of my mind from now on.