It was dark and warm, not the feeling I once had, not the comfort I once imagined. It was more real than the books I read and praised, more in the moment that the moment itself. I was scared as I always was, but this time a part of me was brave and lived for that split of a second, for that moment of closing my eyes and letting him kiss me under the falling snowflakes.
I knew then as I know now how wrong it was for me to do that, but it seemed like my imagination was something I could touch, and I had him.
Looking back at that moment seems like looking in a book, reading a story about a girl that loved a boy that existed in her head, but the boy was real. The boy still exists, but the boy is different from what she thinks he is.
Is it selfish to look at a person like that? Taking only the parts that you want a person to be?