Ode to the Man Who May Not Exist

Sometimes I miss you more than words can express, more than I can allow myself to speak. Because the moment I give in, the very second I utter that inescapable truth, I'll be done for, left as nothing more than a crumpled pile of human debris, shattered by the sheer existence of life without you beside me. But do you know what the greatest catch of all is...?

I'm not even entirely sure that you exist.

You could very well be some sort of twisted, heart-wrenching figment of my imagination, created within the cruel realms of my mind as some horrific, masochistic torture device, molded to prey upon my withered soul by none other than yours truly. And what could possibly be more terrifying than that, you ask? Well...

You might actually be real.

The thought that you exist, that you are of genuine flesh and blood, that you breathe real breaths and think real thoughts, is practically beyond my comprehension. Could it truly be that there is a being out there for whom my heart beats, someone who won't shy away from the passion within me, but who will, instead, set me aflame, taking me on a tour of my hottest, wildest dreams?

Is that even fucking possible?

Thus far, I'm thinking not. But it could be. But it couldn't be. Well, maybe. Perhaps? I haven't the slightest clue, to be completely honest. Is it even fathomable to miss someone so deeply who you may not have even met, who may not even be? I really don't know. Yet, when it's late at night and my heart aches, crying out for the one who can fulfill its every desire, something deep within me holds on, desperate to cling to the tiny shard of hope that maybe, just maybe you are out there, yearning for me just as painstakingly as I yearn for you.