The man of my dreams remains that: only in my dreams. He is real, made of the same flesh, bones, and elements I am, but to be with him is a dream.
He comes to me each night as I close my eyes. Sometimes he is so real, I can feel him next to me; the hair of his arms tickling mine as he wraps them around me, pulling me close; the deep vibration of his voice in my ears, making my skin tingle and breath quicken. Settling into him, trying to become him in the effort.
In my dreams, this is how we stay until I wake.