Chatterbox: Inkwell

~hi y'all. Wrote this in math today but I have no idea where to go with it. Please add on!~

I don't know her name. It never seemed important to ask. Whenever I saw her, I forgot everything. Nothing like that seemed important. It was just her and me.

Obviously I am older now and I know that there are much more important things in life than my own happiness. I have a wife and three kids to take a care of. I have a rent to continue to barely pay. I have a job to keep, even though it is miserable. These things are important. My childhood fantasies are not important.

They were fantasties. Obviously.

It is not possible that a beautiful young woman came and visited me every night until I was nine. It is not possible that we played and told stories and cried and laughed together. It is not possible that I never asked her name. I just had a very vivid imagination, as we all did when we were little and had to deal with the bullies on the bus and the yells in the house. I invented an imaginary friend to help me cope. I studied psychology in college and I know that this is what we do as humans. Obviously that was a stupid degree because now I file papers in an office for a living. Nevertheless, it is true. I learned to cope and then grew out of it. It does not matter that my memories of her are so detailed. It has been 20 years. These were dreams and fantasties.

These were my thoughts before yesterday. Now I know nothing.

Today I walked into the office and there she was. The woman from my childhood. I do not think that I moved for a whole minute. Or an hour. I am not sure. I finally summoned the courage to say hi. She had not aged a day. She didn't recognize me. I stared at her constantly. She was still young and beautiful and sweet.

Now I don't know what to do.