My Dream Man

I am infatuated with the man from my dreams.

"He is but a figment of your imagination," the shrink said.

"But he is real. I know he is," I replied.

This is me on my third session of psychoanalysis and I am getting tired of it already. No, I've always been. I just happened to pull through this long to assure myself I wasn't crazy.

Hot sun blazing through my hat and piercing through my shades... Lord knows this weather is not good for me.

I recall today's episode with my man: I never see his face. I never see his legs. I see only his chest,and feel his hot breath on the small of my neck, as his hands travels down the small of my back in a romantic caress. He whispers something I never hear, while I bask in the heavenly fragrance of his masculinity.
His smell, once vague, now dominates my entire nasal perception.

I am moist. I can't think.

"You smell divine", I mutter.

The cab jerked to a halt. I am home now.

The miracle never happens. I realise now, it never will.