Every night I walk the halls.
Running my finger tips along the walls littered with sensations.
Bit of him there, bits of me.
And every time I see him I wave. It is no big deal. I wave. Because day to day he is gone.
But when the day is over I dream of him. I walk that hall, touching bits of him.
I don't know why I dream of him. He was hardly there for me. But I dream of the way I wish he was. The way I hoped he could be, and then I wake up, tired because I walked those halls all night and I remember that for me, he was never there, for him I was never real, and for both of us, it is like it never happened, except for when I dream.