perhaps i was in an accident, the kind you hear about on the news, and i am in a coma. perhaps the memories i could’ve sworn were mine have been fabricated by my subconscious, and the things i think i feel are nothing close to reality. the people around me are mere figments of my imagination, incredibly overactive as a result of months spent locked inside my head. perhaps the girl i wish to be is but a shadow of the girl i already am. perhaps the life i wish to lead, already lived and the lessons i wish to learn, already learnt. perhaps the boy i dream of is but a poorly drawn impression of a boy i already know.
