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Imagination played a huge role in our relationship. I spent half my time having conversations with him in my head. So much so that in imagining our selves together, I found clarity. The real versions of our selves were far more complex to handle; there was too much commotion. The imaginary versions were compatible, understanding and accommodating. The real ones weren’t so together. He blamed my imagination for the faulty communication we had in place. For in my imagination, he always read my mind. I brought those high expectations into a very real relationship and the pressures of fulfilling those. To make matters worse, he didn’t have an imaginary relationship with me. Just the real one that struggled and faltered with our incessant fights. My imagination fueled my hope in the relationship. He was glued in on the cruel realities yet he found it in himself to keep the faith alive through reality. I found that commendable; he found my actions cowardly. Our fights continued and so did our imaginary merriment.