A stranger on the other end of the radio waved cell phone signals, and she laughed at the things I said, I mean everything I said, all my failed attempts at being serious and funny. I was so flattered that I made more attempts. Isn't it strange that I can't entertain anybody I know, but I can entertain a stranger? Is it because I am eloquent and charming? Is it because there's some inexplicable connection between us? Is it because she's a better flatterer than my friends? I really wish it's the first reason; well, I'm happy to settle for the second; but I'm old enough to know it's most likely the third. I think about you again, my ghost of love and pain, that will never go away. I wish you had flattered me out of my doubts; I wish we enjoyed the imperfect reality and got over it soon afterwards; I wish I stop thinking what might have been. I wish I stop to wish if it is possible.