Dream boy

At first, just his eyes. Intense. Brown. Glowing. Thick browed. I saw them many times and knew them by heart. I could paint them to the last eyelid hairs if I were an artist. Trust me. If I were given a thousand brows or eyes or just the retinas or, in fact, the lines on his eyelids and surface of his eyes alone, I could pick his. That much I knew them. I knew them so well, and I knew them more than him. I never searched for his eyes on other’s faces because I knew, if those eyes were there, my eyes would need no google, I will spot them right on. I was happy with just his eyes, but suddenly one night his face showed up too. I had never seen him except in my dreams, and these dreams were random, with no pattern. I could not wish not to see him, which I wouldn’t even in my dreams. Hope? Yes! I hoped to see him when I had time to think of his solid eyes, the twinkling pupils with hidden mischief. His face didn’t strike me as much as his eyes did, but that was only initially. 

Thirteen years was when I first saw his eyes, closed, both his and mine. Later his’s opened, and I lost myself (still eyes closed, remember I was sleeping). I ignored him, but how long could I deceive myself? In the next three years, these dreams grew more intense, just like his eyes did. At one stage, I saw him, the whole of him. He was probably at home or not, he was sipping coffee, poured out of a mug, brewed from the coffee beans (like a real man) I heard, or I imagined. Everything except him was blurry. Then, one time I saw his Adam’s apple go up and down as he was speaking (I heard nothing), I couldn’t help myself but zoom on to it. The image got blurrier. I wished for am a more sophisticated dream, but I was afraid it might swap the eyes or tamper his Adam’s apple. I seized my prayer and reverted to the previous frame. He was still sipping his coffee, my man, my dream boy.

One night, I saw him shirtless. Yay! At a gym. He didn’t have a great physique. He was like dark chocolate lifting weights. I saw loads of sweat dripping out of him. I followed his sweat on his temples, trimmed cheeks, ribs, arms, shoulders. I avoided his underarms out of my shyness. His perfectly stretched teeth were squeezing out of his open mouth, feeling the stress of the weights. Unable to handle his hotness, I forcefully freed myself from my dream. I wanted to. What if he was real, somewhere out there, and doing his workouts at a gym. The sudden idea of him supposedly being a real person and not just my dream boy excited me more than the erotic fantasy. If yes, why is he in my dreams? I also regretted coming out of my dream, thinking what if he weren’t real. Will I ever be able to see him in real life or shirtless in dream life again? Which one did I prefer more? I couldn’t make my mind.

That dream caught inside of me, disturbed me. It impurified me, dirtied my body, and touched my soul. I couldn’t stop thinking about those quick splits his sweats made. Sometimes when I didn’t see him for a while, I missed him. I forced myself to dream about him, but my dreams controlled me, and it was never the other way around. Then, he came again. Ask me how? He jumped at least seven feet from a mid-landing to a bean bag underneath. My heart came out to my hands. Careful. Careful. I cursed him more than I cautioned him. Of course, he didn’t hear me. I never told anyone about him, because there was nothing to say. What if he was not real, or the worse, even if he were real? Nothing would change, right? Maybe he existed during some prehistoric times or in a parallel universe, what good is he to me. Yet, I welcomed him into my dreams. 

During one of my rare afternoon naps, I dreamed of him. I wasn’t used to seeing him much during the daytime. I was pleasantly astonished. He had his earphones on and was sitting on a bench or something. The background was blurry as usual, but I heard or felt waves pounding up and down and grasped that he was at a beach. He was also taking notes, probably studying. I never understood how people concentrated on studying while listening to something else. I was never good at multi-tasking. When I saw such people in Starbucks, I probably thought they just plugged onto their earphones to nothing but empty noise to avoid outside disturbances. “Show off’s” was what I called them. OMG, was my guy one of those showoffs? But he was genuinely listening to something. I could see him swinging his head to the beats of his phone. Suddenly something shocking happened. He took off one of the sides of the earphones (probably the left) to shift his concentration to something else. What? What is that he was straining to see. I could see his dilated pupils. Then it struck me. Was he? OMG.. was he staring at me? I thought he did, it appeared as if he knew someone (me) was eying on him consistently, but that’s what I have been doing in my dreams from always. I have been stalking him. Why now did he decide to react? I was embarrassed and twitched aggressively. I know that from the wrinkled sheets beneath me. Then his face softened, he smiled, with a half-wave he murmured a “hi” to me. I got up. I felt that unlike the gym dream, this dream properly excited me.

One day, I cried for the whole day because the previous night, I saw him kissing someone. I didn’t see her face, never was interested in seeing her either. I felt as if he cheated on me, clearly, but could I blame him? He didn’t even know I existed. Yet, the infidelity threw me back. I was angry at him. Constantly. For the next few times, whenever he popped in my dream, I resisted. I pinched myself to wake up. I didn’t want to see him until one night when I could no more beat up myself to open my eyes.  I saw him, and he was in the shower. Can you imagine? I saw him again, shirtless. Partially Naked. But only his top half. The dream didn’t show me down in there, it was not a movie filmed on an iPhone or handy cam you see, but since the other day some zooming techniques favored me, I tried my best to tweak the dimensions and limitations of this dream as well, yet again to be reminded, my dreams don’t take my instructions. 

Finally, on broad daylight, in the middle of a railway platform with people hovering both sides of the railway track (no I wasn’t sleeping there or dreaming of him), I was waiting for my train to pick me in the next twelve minutes. Then, there on the other side of the platform, I saw his eyes. Yes. Only eyes and I knew it was him. The train passing by hindered my vision to his whole face. With each passing bogie, my heart thudded. He was real, and I was about to see him. What do I do? Do I turn away? Do I run to him? I thought of a million things to do, but at the passage of the last bogie, there was me, stoned. I saw him. He was just like how I saw him. He was listening to something on his earphones until he lifted his head and noticed something. He stared at someone. Yeah! Me... Then his face softened, he smiled, with a half-wave he murmured a “hi” to me. This time I didn’t have to wake up. 

Then, he never came in my dreams. To be honest, it was never needed either. So, what else? Oh! About the girl, he kissed in my dream. I would not have been angry with him, had I seen the girl as well.