I couldn’t recollect how it began nor how it ended. But, it’s still vivid in my mind how our outstretching arms were always reaching out for each other’s; how we’re good at pulling them back when they’re a touch away. Always close, but never close enough to taste each other’s skin. I remembered how intoxicated you were by heartbreak, that I became a perfect illusion of someone you could adore. An object of infatuation. It was delighting, the way you romanticized superficiality that I featured. In your eyes I could saw a veneered version of myself that I, too, would desire. If only you cared a little to peel off a bit of it, would you let reality crush you or feigned blind and deaf instead?