For our imagination is drawn. Drawn from line to line stroke to stroke of daydreams that keep us sane throughout the busy day walking from one place to the other. For mine are most disappointing, because they are not typical, everyday fantasies. The workaholic who stares at the television at night, the housewife who chose to not do the dishes, and even the movie star that is only happy at home alone, will daydream about what it’s like to feel, to kiss, to be a part of someone else’s lips. They walk past strangers. Falling for the curve of their sides, the lightness of the stranger’s steps, and the brown hair that falls gently over their eye. They want to place their hands softly against the their cheek and learn the definition of being alive. But mine are most disappointing. Because my daydreams do not typically involve the fleeting thoughts of love between those who have never met. My daydreams only involve you.