From A Dream

There's a man that tortures me in the corner of my mind. He nags me, begging for attention, saying, "love me, love me, love me." But when I try to bring his face into my mind's eye, it's blurred and distant. I can't get a clear grasp on his facial structure, it shifts and blends together. Sometimes, I think I know what he looks like, but I can never be sure if that's the structure of his face or of someone that I saw on the streets that day. Surely, he must just be a figment of my imagination. But he seems so tangible, so real. It's hard to believe that I would have been able to make up such a life-like fantasy.

I see him every night. He holds me and loves me, like nobody else ever has. But every morning, he's gone. I'm left with such a deep sense of loss that my heart aches like it's been carved open and left to bleed. My body yearns and mourns for someone that doesn't even exist. How could he? Although I can't remember his face, no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to forget his eyes. They are the color of amethyst, bright and mirthful, with a touch of sadness peeking through. What kind of person has violet eyes? It's otherworldly, something that can't occur naturally; only in the dreamscape.

And then there is his hair. Chestnut colored, and so long it brushes his knees when it's down. So silky and beautiful... I can spend hours threading my fingers without getting bored. But I've never seen a guy with hair that long, nevertheless that well maintained. Even though I know it's foolish, every time I pass someone with long, brunette hair, I study their face in a vain attempt to find the dream man. In the impossible situation that I ever did see him, I feel like I would know if it was him. I've been with him hundreds of times, although many of the memories fade as soon as I wake up. To my frustration, I'm just left with visions of of endless, shining hair, muscled, tan limbs, and those deep, soulful eyes.

Slowly, night by night, he's been appearing less and less. I open my eyes and I'm crying, faint whispers of him desperately clinging to me remaining. He pleads for me to stay, but I know I can't. I can't live in a dream forever. Perhaps my brain conjured him up because I was so lonely, I tell myself. Maybe I just don't need him anymore, which is why he appears so infrequently. But I do. I do need him. I haven't seen him for a month now. I search for him in my dreams, my hopeless infatuation driving me. I look, to no avail, for the faceless boy with the long hair. I have a feeling I'll never see him again. Soon, I'll forget about him. He'll evanesce away until all I am left with is the lingering feeling that something is missing.