When I daydream (k, it happens alot, Algebra II is really boring), it seems like the images in my mind take on a filmish quality. Like old pictures you would find in the attic or basement. Even before moments in my daydreams come true, if they ever do, they become memories. Because that is what life is made of. Memories. It’s why I do what I do. For the memory of it. For the smile that will appear on my face long after that moment is past, when I think about that certain time and place.
For the memory of all the laughs we shared and the fun times we had together and the thrill I got whenever I heard your voice saying you’d rather be with me than anywhere else in the world. I don’t get those feelings anymore but I still have the memories.
And that’s what counts, isn’t it?