MacKenzie, on a whim

Approaching a fog covered city is like looking at a dream from above. It is hard to be certain where the thin line exists between it's reality and imagination. Is it there? Or are those shadows and silhouettes tricking my mind? It's how this whole life has felt; is this all actually happening? And if it is, how? The closer you get the more sure of it all you are, it becomes more palpable, and suddenly there you are, standing in midtown, surrounded by colossal metal structures towering above your mind. Perspective is everything. I feel as though I've woken up from a childish dream. The last few years I didn't understand talk of this imaginary world and now it's as though a curtain has been pulled from over my eyes, the sunlight is flooding my room and it is finally spring.

I will always remember standing in the crowd looking up at you in that jean shirt. I've always loved you in that shirt, especially since it's from the Gap. I will remember little smiles affecting your cheeks, the way you looked at me when you realized I was so close. Most importantly I'll remember you singing to me the words that you first said to me in the beginning. Most of the time you don't pay attention to me during that song, but you've looked at me at the appropriate line twice. Once on our anniversary and again the other night. It feels like so much inside when you do that, when I really believe it and it seems for a split second that this may work. Vividly I will see you tugging the string around your neck from under your navy undershirt to hold the wooden ring between your teeth. Smiling and dancing and feeling so happy, I will always remember the greatness of us. The issue is what I never seem to remember, like talking to you for a total of 5 minutes afte...