I'm pretty sure you're not real. Just some elaborate hoax my brain has created to comfort me as I try to return to 'normal'. Whatever the hell that is. But at least giving in to the notion that you could be real and somewhere out there waiting for me to remember gives me a sense of purpose, so whatever my subconscious is doing, it must be working. And writing these letters 'to you' helps to sort out the mess of thoughts in my head.
I do feel bad, though. I feel like I'm being unfaithful. Is that possible? Can you cheat on an imaginary girlfriend? Probably not. I'm being an idiot. And besides, it's not like it was a date. Just a different kind of therapy. I'm just getting confused because I had – dare I say it – a good time with her.
Something about her puts me at ease. I can relax my guard around her, and she seems to understand my needs before even I do. That's head shrinkers for you, I guess, but she does it in a way that makes me feel… I don't know, but it's not the same as when Dr. Gibbs does it.
And I can't deny how incredibly attractive she is. Sweet and wholesome in a way I'm not used to finding in these military facilities. But she's also tenacious and… a little eccentric. And stubborn. Extremely stubborn. And those eyes… I would gladly offer myself up to drown in their mysterious ble depths.
But then thoughts of you creep int my head, and I find myself wishing I knew the colour of your eyes, that I had more than just this vague, shadowing figure and a sense of love and acceptance to know you by. I hope you're real, Babe. I hope you're mine, and you're out there waiting for me to come home.
Don't go crazy, Babe. I'll be there as soon as I can,