It's been 5 years. 5 years since I last heard your voice, since you last spoke to me, since I last saw you.

I hardly feel that I can be held fully responsible for my actions last week. My eyes were convinced that it was you, crossing the street. My brain needed more evidence. That's why I did it. That's why I called your name like that, in the centre of downtown Chicago.

Turns out that my initial assumption was correct. Turns out that it was you, in the middle of the road, and not a mirage. Or, even worse, a case of mistaken identity. I don't even want to consider how I would have felt if it had been someone else.

Probably not anywhere near as awful as I feel now, I suppose. I honestly think I would be able to cope with this feeling if it was anyone else but you. I would have been able to apologise, able to leave my contact details and able to walk out.

But I can't. Because it's you, and you have some mystical power over my self control.

Please tell me that you can hear me.

Please, just wake up.