It’s happened before, this partial interaction between you and me. I’ve looked at you and wondered to myself, how long will you last? I do this, of course, because no one ever does. When I’m in a situation to which I don’t know how to react, I write a character in my mind right then and there who could handle it perfectly. I can’t be them, though, that’s not the point anyway. They’re merely fictional, after all. They’re just there to keep me company, to remind me that there’s no one on the non-fiction shelves who could do everything the right way. But the real trouble is that I can never remember them when I need to, I can’t remember the sounds of their voices, the curves of their lips, the glints in their eyes. It makes me feel very alone, being unable to recognize even companions I’ve thought up myself. You’re like them. You’re like the absent memory of my characters. You won’t last. You’re just thought up and forgotten. You’re merely fictional.