I still get mad sometimes. The one-sided conversations (you remember, the ones you said were attacks) pop up in my mind and get me raging all over again. Just because I’m upset, it doesn’t mean I want you back. I don’t need you or miss you, but I still grieve. I mourn for the life I’d made up in head. I mourn for the man who doesn’t exist. Sometimes I still want things that aren’t real.