The storm rages outside and in my heart. I’m alone. He’s gone and I am lost to grief and my body shakes with the release of tears and the pain of my shattering heart. For the rest of the night I lie catatonic in my bed. With exhausted eyes I lie there staring off into space, numb, paralyzed by grief. I don’t have the will to move and I don’t care if I ever do again.
This devastating feeling of loss is a cloud that surrounds me for weeks. I just can’t shake it. The only positive, if you can call it that, is that I know what he looks like now. I have his name now. His name is “Dex”. The only question is, am I grieving over a figment of my imagination or does he really exist? This dream is the most vivid dream I have ever had. Most of my dreams are made up of smoke and mirrors that play tricks on my brain. Never have they been this vivid. I could feel the texture of his skin. I could smell him. I tasted his passion. It has to be real right?
Everything I do, everywhere I go he is there now. I can’t shake him. Like a ghost, he stands in my kitchen while I cook breakfast. I see him standing against the counter in his boxers watching me cook. He seems so real standing there with his chin length sun streaked hair mussed and tucked behind his ears. Sunlight streams in from the window shooting gold through his hair. I want to reach out and trace the bumps and ridges of his sculpted body, to trace along the edge of his boxers right where his tan line is exposed. When he smiles he lights from within, straight white teeth and full lips. I know what those lips taste like. His blue eyes send a pulse strait to my heart. He is so beautiful and strong and real and I want to curl up into him, climb into him where he can lock those thick corded arms around me and keep me. Dex is beauty personified and his beauty makes my heart weep. I draw him constantly now. I can’t help myself, I need more of him and this is the only way I get to touch him, by drawing him and dreaming of him.
After breakfast, I am lying on my den floor looking at the drawings of Dex that cover my walls. He surrounds me in his many shapes and forms. I lie here wondering what we really meant to one another. My last drawing is not like the others, he looks angry and accusing. Confusion swirls and pulls at my emotions. Since my dream, I have been on edge physically, emotionally. My need is a sharp knife in my gut twisting, turning. I wake needy for Dex to touch me, to love me. Looking at this last drawing hurts me. He is in agony. If he did really exist, could I have caused that look in his eyes? He seems so full of pain and anger. Did I do this to him? Am I the cause of all that pain?
I don’t trust my own feelings. I am a danger to myself. My judgment is skewed. In my head I try to reason it all out. I am almost sure we were lovers. Then maybe I just wanted us to be lovers, maybe he was a fantasy I had before. There is a real possibility that he is a dangerous person I have the scars to remind me that I have been harmed and most likely by someone close to me. Was I a girl that would fall for a bad man, give myself to him just to have him turn on me, hurt me? Could I have always been damaged? I guess that is possible considering I ended up where I ended up…I certainly had a connection to something bad.
What I do know is that my body wants him. The only thing I know. At this moment he is just a fucking fictional character in my empty life and I need something to hold on to for a moment. I push my fractured thoughts back. I go to a place where there are no boundaries. No future. No past. Just this moment exist between me and my fictional Dex. This Dex is mine. He is my love and desires me as much as I desire him. I give myself permission to open up my secret little box or dormant desires for just a moment. I allow myself to feel more than the grief and emptiness of my life.