Him

In that place of yours
That ethereal place where your dreams are conjured
There you made him
You built him from scratch
Paying attention to every little detail
From his crooked fingers to his slouchy gait
His thick nose and his dark skin
Jet black hair and baby beard
Perfectly white imperfect teeth
His cute uncute smile
His small eyes
Even his faint acne scars
In that place of yours
Barred from everyone else
He existed in a form known only to you
That perfect imperfect form that you so lovingly built

Today you saw him
The minute your gaze found him you knew it could be no other
It seemed as though time stopped
It seemed as though you had entered that realm where your dreams reside
You didn’t realize your heart stopped until you breathed again
His eyes
His nose…

You look at the red
It’s still at 35
You turn your gaze back to him
He is seated at the bus stop
Immersed in a book
Perhaps he is waiting for someone…

His hair, fuller.
His fingers, crooked but not so much.
His beard, not a baby beard anymore.
Nice and full
He stirs
You quickly avert your gaze and stare ahead
Your heart racing
You hope he doesn’t see you
Yet you hope he does
The red’s at 5 now

You slowly turn to him again
You don’t think he saw you
It wouldn’t matter if he did
As others rev their engines
You follow suit

You will favour the version of him in your head over the one in the flesh
You will hear his laughter in your head as you always have
You will think of him as you’d made him
You hope this real person you have seen won’t affect the version in your head
You will forget that real person you saw and focus on what you’ve always known
What you’re used to

That beard though…

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