#fictional?

Im eating these relationship dynamics up. Also, the nonbinary thing include nonbinary people and others of similar labels / no label. The men and women thing also includes transgender people!

If only I can turn back time, I would love to go back on the last day of our meeting. I never got to see your reaction when I gave the letter I wrote for hours and hours, so I would want to see that. Also, I never got a chance to have a small talk with you, so the last day of our meeting would be the perfect day to spend time with you. I also stuttered a lot whenever I got a chance to talk to you, so I want to go back and change that. And then there’s this small thing I also want to change-- your regret of not having the courage to stand tall and speak normally to me. I read some of your posts somewhere in the Internet that you hope someday we would meet each other again for you have to say something more than just “Hello” and “Goodbye”. Actually, there’s a lot to change. But I can’t turn back time. So this is our regret-- not finding the right words for the perfect place, time, and moment. 

At an altitude, the world; or everything it contained — seemed all but a speck of dust. Never in 715 ft. has the city felt so distant. It barely looked like native land, but rather parcels of pillagers thriving to heist the other. Every structure a regime on its' own, unbeknownst of their absolutism to the jungle. You stood at the edges, walled in by glass, gazing up the prospect of the world as you see upon you. Your eyes are transparent of your enthralment and you very warily traced your fingers upon the glass and contoured the skeleton of metal. You were very much enticed as you are enticing. I looked back between where we were and where you stood. And I looked back to recognise every other entity who's breaths we shared; and none of them resembled any other. I looked back at you and thought of how you reminded me of her, or at least as a deceit to how I wished she was you. She would've exposed every inch of her curiosity right there, and I would see her every thought flare like the very gleam and glitter that gradually flickered in the notion that dusk has settled upon. Radiance was dimming by the minutes, masked by the edges of our 23.5° tilted planet. Yet at the same time, her very thoughts are veiled by the palpability that reality exists as an objective absolute. My thoughts are fiction, and she is only drawing half of this fictional solipsism. Reality is that you're here with me, and she is merely a pipe dream.