Great Roses Ever Growing, by Rosie

I felt his arms around me in the middle of the night, but I knew he wasn't there. I knew he didn't like me, he liked her. So why did I feel his arms around me at 6am?
"Hey you," I said.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Why are you holding me? You don't like me, you like her."

"Don't you like my holding you? YOU like me."

"Yeah, I know I like you. And I love the fact that you're here, with me now, holding me. It's just odd is all."

"Why is it odd?"

"Because I know, and you know that you like HER, and not me! And how are you in my house at 6am anyway?"

"Well. . . I'm not technically here."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I'm, uh. . . A figment of your imagination."

"I knew I shouldn't have watched Fight Club last night."

"Yeah, probably not."

"So, ummmmm, what are we supposed to do here?"

"Well, can't we just pretend?"

"Pretend what? That you're truly here and you like me?"

"Yeah. That would be it."

"Ok. I do love to feel your arms around me. . ."

[About 15 minutes later. . .]

"Ok," I said. "This isn't going to work."

"Why not?"

"I can deal with you not really being here. I can pretend that. But I just can't get over the fact that you like her over me. It hurts too much."

Suddenly I felt him no more. The comforting touch was gone and I was once again all alone. I felt a pain in my chest, all at once wishing that I had not told him to leave. But it was true, he liked her, not I. And I was probably insane anyway.