Last night I dreamt I was in your city again. I wanted to pick up the phone and send you a message, letting you know I was around. I wanted to believe that you cared that I was there. I wanted to pretend that you would take some time out of your day to see me, if just for a few minutes. I thought about going to the restaurant around the corner from your apartment, you know, the one that had some delicious pho? I started at it as we drove by it, looking to see if by some chance you were already there. I wanted to stand at the doorstep, waiting and hoping you’d just pass by. I woke up and all my hopes had gone away; I woke up and remembered that everything isn’t what I had wanted to be. I am not in your city and you wouldn’t give a damn either way. I hate my dreams, such deceiving things.

 

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