Sometimes, he was physically present but a thousand miles away in his mind. He imagined conversations that never happened, places he had never been, and different endings to moments he couldn't forget. It wasn't that he hated his life. Sometimes, reality simply felt too heavy, and imagining another one was the only way he knew how to rest. But the longer he stayed inside those imaginary worlds, the harder it became to return to his own. And sometimes he wondered: Was he escaping from his life, or from the feelings he didn't know how to face?