I never did figure out why the dreams started. Maybe it was some sort of subconscious trigger that caused my brain to envision him every night. Or it could have been the concussion. Yeah, I fell one day while dancing in the shower. Yep, dancing in the shower. It was a pretty stupid thing now that I think about it. Involved a Backstreet Boys CD and me attempting to dance while in the shower. I should have known better. For one, I can’t dance. I’m tall, lanky, and goofy as hell when I dance. On a positive note, I do have rhythm, and besides the lack of dancing talent, I’m pretty musically inclined. However, I don’t know why I attempted the famous boy band choreography in a slippery and hard surfaced area. I fell flat on my ass and hit my head on the faucet. Waking up in the hospital was the worst part. It was a good thing my mother had decided to visit when she did. My fall had rendered me unconscious, and I opened my eyes to a white room with a splitting headache. Thought I had died. But no, I was left with a nice bump and a damn big bruise. I guess I was pretty lucky, considering I could have broken a leg or hip or something.
Whether it was the concussion or something else – voodoo spell maybe? – I have seen him every night for the last few weeks. It’s like he’s haunting me in my sleep. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad thing, not bad at all. In fact, I welcome sleep; I yearn for the night when I get to see his gorgeous face. It’s the best part of my day, if lying comatose in the most wonderful dreaming state ever imaginable to mankind even counts as part of the day.
The dreams always start fuzzy at first while I fall into deeper sleep, but I can always see his eyes. The clear blue orbs are always in focus. Ya know how dreams are – sometimes a little hazy, and sometimes utterly clear. Well, mine are no different. Some I recall clear as a bell, the others, I simply remember his eyes. They remind me of the ocean. Deep and blue and full. Sometimes they look sad, and other times they look arrogant, then the next day they are happy. And on a very good night – well, what I would consider a good night – they look right at me. No, they look right through me, but portray so much adoration and happiness. Like he was happy to see me. Like he had waited all day and couldn’t wait for the nighttime to come and engulf him in sleep so he could see me. He sometimes looks at me like I was the one haunting HIS dreams. If only that were so….
When I awake from the dreams that are cloudless and easily remembered, it never ceases to amaze me at how all the senses linger on my body during the sleepy hours of the morning when I’m attempting to drag my ass out of bed. I can remember the craziest things! One time I could still feel the material of his shirt against my arm, I could see the fine crinkles around his eyes as he smiled, hear his angelic voice say my name and see his lips press together as he says “Emma”. I could smell his designer cologne, feel his soft and perfect lips against my own, feel the thrill as my heart beats faster at his touch…. Those are the days that I never want to wake up. I could sleep forever.
Alas, when the morning dreadfully comes, I pretend that I never saw him frequent my nighttime visions and I eventually pull myself out of bed. I live a normal life and he doesn’t. No, his life is far from “normal”. He doesn’t even now I exist, whereas millions of people around the world know him simply by looking at a picture or hearing his voice. After taking a shower, eating breakfast, and commuting to my downtown office, I work all day and pretend I’m not completely in love with a man I’ve only met in my dreams. I make nice with co-workers, hang out with friends, maybe even go on a date or two, golf on Saturday and go to church on Sunday. I, never once, hint to anyone of my secret nocturnal life. My family and friends think I’m happy and successful. Well, they’re right in that, I’m not depressed or anything, I’m just…incomplete.
It’s a simple tragedy really. The man that I’m deeply in love with has no idea that I am alive….
