*Written with a tired mind and only a few small edits or revisions.

There used to be this girl in her teenage years who was clad in a simple shirt and miniskirt, and was enveloped in an aura of innocent sensuality that was awfully appealing for reasons that were utterly intangible. I saw her all the time, in my mind’s eye.

She resided in my daydreams, where she was always by my side. She never spoke, but only smiled and laughed. And with her innocent yet sensual smile and laughter she would embrace me with her smooth, slender arms and envelop me with her cheer. To my nightmares she always ventured. Pulling me from the dark, murky depths of despair and self-loathing, to heal my mind and body as they were on the verge of breaking and to provide the courage and determination I so desperately needed to confront life’s trials. In my fantasies, she became far more than just an innocent, sensual teenage girl in a simple shirt and miniskirt. She was the saviour I had longed for – she answered my cry for intimacy and companionship; freed me from anxiety and depression; liberated me from the clutches of pain; and answered my every worry and trouble.

I also knew in my thoughts that she was a selfish wish, an impossible dream, a mythical creature, an existence that seemed implausibly real when I closed my eyes but was undoubtedly fictitious when I opened them.

But in my reality she was, to me, a girl in her teenage years who was clad in a simple shirt and miniskirt, and was enveloped in an aura of innocent sensuality that was awfully appealing for reasons that were utterly intangible. And every time I slept I would wrap my arms around this girl who did and did not exist.


Nowadays, neither my eye nor my mind’s eye sees a teenage girl clad in a simple shirt and miniskirt, or a girl who is enveloped in an aura of innocent sensuality that is awfully appealing for utterly intangible reasons. Such a girl no longer resides in my daydreams, which is now home only to things which bear some semblance of realism or possibility. I no longer have such a girl to free me from nightmares. My fantasies of such a girl have been laid to rest by the acceptance  of the fact that she is an impossibility that I will never find, that I could never hope to find, for she does not and will never exist in this world. I had known this in my thoughts all along, but had looked away from the truth because it was too painful for me to bear.

So what made me look? Why did I look straight in the eye of such a painful, awful truth and accept it? Because I had to. I had to bid farewell to this girl, who was innocent yet sensual, who was my partner and companion, who replaced hurt and despair with love and hope, who was so many things and could be almost anything and everything I wanted or needed.

That last bit’s the problem. She could be almost everything, but she couldn’t actually be everything, especially that one thing I wanted her to be the most. To be real.

All the joy and comfort she gave me eventually became outweighed by the pain of her non-existence. Eventually I decided to cut off the pain, to forget it.

There was no bittersweet farewell; I simply cast her away one morning. Nothing took her place. There was only emptiness and hollowness where her touch once was. There was no happiness, no sadness, no joy, no anger, no despair. There was nothing. There was only a hollow state which I lived in for the next week or so. It wasn’t hard. I could display sufficient emotion when I interacted with others and carried out my tasks. It was only on the inside that I felt nothing.

By feeling nothing, I was able to cope with my issues for a while. I encountered many pleasant and unpleasant things, but I was unaffected by them. It was as if my soul, my very being, no longer gave a crap about such things and could no longer bother to come up with a reaction. To pleasant things I reacted with a hollow stare and a fake smile. To unpleasant things I reacted with hollow eyes and a hollow expression.

But now my emotions are coming back to me. I can feel joy in doing the things I like again, to revel in pleasures both pure and sinful. And with them come the ability to despair and fear again.

A hollowness still remains within me for now, and with that hollowness I am for now able to absorb those negative emotions and cast them into a realm of nothingness. But how long can this last? For how long can I hold myself together? How long will I be able to live without that teenage girl who wears a simple shirt and miniskirt and is enveloped in an aura of innocent sensuality? Already I can feel her hands on my head when I sleep, and in my dreams my pillow becomes her lap. I am ready to embrace her again, this delusion of mine, despite the pain it will eventually bring me.

Perhaps this is how I will live my life. First there will be a period when I am with her, and later a time where I bid goodbye to her and be alone in a hollow state, and after that I shall began my return to normalcy and my return to my yearning for her, and after that I shall be with her again, and the cycle will repeat. And I shall live the rest of my life in this cycle.

The only way for the cycle to break is if someone like the girl would come into my life. But that is an implausibility and an impossibility. I don’t entertain such things anymore, so I’ll just shelve that thought and instead think of the next stage in this cycle, and, of course, of the girl.