Since I was about 15, I've had this recurring dream about a man. I don't know what he looks like, because when I wake up, all I remember is seeing his back, the side of his face, the touch of his hand, or his laugh.
When I ask him why I never see his face, he tells me "You see my face everytime. You just forget it before you wake up. Forgetting is easier right now."
When I was with B, I stopped dreaming of 'the guy'. Deep down, I've always believed that the guy that I dream of is the man I'm supposed to be with. The reason I haven't met him yet, is because it's not time. Maybe because of me, maybe because of him.
Anyway, when I find out that B had been lying for our whole three year relationship, I didn't want to let go. I wrestled with it, and when I was worrying about making the right decision, I dreamt about my mystery guy again.
In that dream, I asked him "Isn't he the one? Isn't he the one I'm supposed to end up with? I know you have brownish hair, and I think your eyes are blue. Aren't they?"
He laughs at me, and says "Maybe they're brown. It doesn't matter."
I dream of him when I'm wrestling with things, when I'm worried, when I'm about out of mind with grief, or stress, or unhappiness.
Strange as it is, sometimes just the thought of him, that I may someday meet him, gives me hope.
Last night, I had a different sort of dream. In my dream, he's sitting in my house.
I'm so happy to see him, I want to tell him, but he's sitting with his head in his hands.
He's doubting himself, he's wrestling with the things in his life. Family, mostly.
I kneel down in front of him, and I take his hands. I put them on his knees, then I put my hands on both sides of his face. I can feel the pleasant, whiskery feel of his unshaved face, and I force him to look at me.
I pull his face close to me, until I'm drowning in his eyes. Trying to speak when I'm so close is impossible.
I look at him, and there are so many things I want to say. To thank him, to speak the combination of words that will take away his pain. Most of all, to ask him if I will ever meet him.
Instead, we just sit there, our arms around each other. No words.
The last thing I remember is feeling him kiss me, just the brush of his lips against mine. It felt like he opened my heart, read the diary that I keep there, and kissed me exactly the way that I've always wanted.