Dream a Reality.

Last night I dreamt of him. It was him, not any different. Still wanted, still hunted. He was there and I was there, in a loud, crowded place. He came and sat next to me. We talked. Focusing on each word the other spoke. Girls came up and interrupted, they tried to take his attention away. He was polite despite their screaming and crying. I waited to the side patiently while he threw me apologetic glances. I didn't mind. We stood to walk out. He was tall, taller than how I'd pictured him. I forced my nerves back deep down inside and we continued our conversation. The people spiraled around us. I blushed and hid my face. I tried to look away but I was forced to look back. His blue grey eyes never wandered. We were alone, together, in the crowd.

Then we were on a big green bus, one of those comfortable types, he was driving, I was 'second in command'. People would come and go and ever so often someone would ask "are you really him?" to which he'd respond with a nod. Everyone left and we arrived at a house, my house, though it wasn't my actual house. My Dad was there, though, again, it wasn't my actual Dad. The boy needed a smoke, as did I and we went out into the giant backyard. We walked and talked and found a picnic table to sit at. Its dark brown wood had been beaten and battered by the elements, the sun illuminated the green that surrounded us. He took the cigarette I had in my hands and gave me his, traded. His cigarette tasted better than mine.

Time blurred and in sudden flashes we were on a couch laughing, we were in a grocery store holding hands, it swirled and swirled, picture after picture. Sweatshirts, sweatpants. A sea of blankets and pillows. His voice never faltered. I never looked away. There was smoke and there was laughter, green grass and blue skies.

I awoke and I sighed. I rolled out of bed and back into reality. A reality where he doesn't even know I exist.