Dream Man

I met my dream man, and for a short sleep he was mine…again, and then again, again. An uncanny match for my ravenous passions who still inspired love for keeping your boots tied to the ground.
Just as visions pass in slumber, we drifted. Swirled round one another, trying to escape the gravity of reality.
He wasn’t Ken, and I’m certainly not Barbie. I’ll take pound signs and Hitler ‘staches over exuberant cars and rose bouquets any day. A game of cards surpasses the romanticism of dinner in the moonlight, not because I’m not a sucker for romance, but because my heart sings a different song.
I’ve never felt a harmony like ours… a harmony so intoxicating it was surreal… a harmony that was a blessing and a curse.
Like a hit of LSD, the delirium is delightful, magical even, but it’s still delirium. You spend every moment in an ontological battle between heart and mind. Sure I can touch this idol of a specimen. I can caress his hair and kiss his lips; I can admire his beautiful mind and feel the laughter in my core, but what parts of him are real? Anything?
Then, the moment you wake up, deliver the heartbreaking pinch to your arm, he’s gone.
Just like the dream you knew him to be.

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