"He was made of dust and daydreams… but he loved me like I was real."
Dear Diary,
His name was Ari.
He had sea-glass eyes and hair like twilight.
He wore a coat stitched from stars and smelled like wind.
He never walked — he floated.
And when I was seven and scared of the dark,
he held my hand through the shadows.
Ari wasn't real.
But he was more present than most people I knew.
He listened when my voice shook.
He laughed at my weird jokes.
He believed me when I said the moon spoke in Morse code.
He told me I wasn't weird — just early.
He was the first one who made me feel… understood.
And then, one day… I stopped seeing him.
Not suddenly.
At first, he just faded around the edges — like a dream dissolving when you open your eyes too fast.
Then his voice got quieter.
Then, nothing.
I told myself I had grown up.
That imaginary friends are for children with empty spaces.
But deep down, I think I abandoned him.
I traded magic for math.
Daydreams for deadlines.
I let the world convince me that anything invisible wasn't real.
But today, I sat on my window ledge with my knees tucked to my chest, and I whispered,
"Ari… are you still out there?"
The air didn't answer.
But my heart ached the way it does when someone is missing you in silence.
What if he waited?
What if he stood at the edge of my childhood, hoping I'd come back?
What if he kept floating by the swing we used to share,
still telling jokes I forgot how to laugh at?
And what if… he grew up too?
Maybe he has a new child now — one who needs him more.
One whose dreams still have doorways.
One who hasn't locked the garden gate of their imagination.
Maybe he's forgotten me.
And that's okay.
Because even if he doesn't remember my name,
he shaped the part of me that still believes in impossible things.
He taught me that being unseen doesn't mean unloved.
So tonight, I'll leave the window open.
Just in case.
Just in case he's still out there,
riding the wind,
carrying the memory of a girl who used to believe with her whole chest.
A girl who still misses him.
Who still loves him.
Who finally understands that imaginary friends are real —
because they live in the parts of us we never stop needing.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🫧🌌