i know that one day i’ll be wasting my sorry drunken time and come across videos of you. i will watch all fifty just to hear the sound of your voice. i will pretend that this voice from the past is speaking of me when it sings melodies of love. i will probably cry for things loved and lost. and no doubt that i will stumble across the idea, once more, that you are just fiction, fabricated, once upon a time, from my lonely, now drunken, mind.