I want my arms around him, his hair on my chest, asleep in the protection of my body. I want to take him and make sure no one gets near hurting him and make sure he has the best experiences and the nicest things to hear from me. I just want him. Who that is, I have no clue. My mind considered the fact that I may be going mad since all my thoughts consisted of this mystery of a man. I’ve spent evenings doing nothing but imagining him, the way his hand would feel wrapped in mine and the way he’d kick off his shoes before walking into my flat. And proceeded to spend the nights making up his life story in my head, it’s not like those books where you imagine someone and magically they appear one day. He’ll just sleep in my mind, occasionally waking up another person. Some days he’s taller, some days he’s short, someday’s he’s the big spoon and some days he’s not. This boy’s a complete figment of my imagination, right?
Sometimes I get distracted, at work I feel like he’s always the next person in the checkout line, he never is. And then on my way home it seems like every guy that passes me is him, it’s never him. But maybe someday it will be. Until them, I remain lost. With no compass to point me in the right direction with my life. I’m just a lost ship, who can’t even get out of the storm.
God, I need to clear my head. I take my ipod in my hands and press the buds into my ears then click play, not even caring which song is playing. Not that it really matters, it’s so loud I can barely hear it. The white noise easily slips me out of reality once again, doing the exact opposite of that it was needed for. As I walk outside the flat door closes behind me and it’s as if I can feel the door slam, and feel the presence of my shoes hitting the pavement with every step. Within moments I make it to a park that I’d spent my days in while visiting my cousins as a kid, the near three hour drive from Cheshire became completely worth it once I layed eyes on that park, yanking my small hand from my mum’s and running towards a swing set then hopping on. I sit there now, the empty yearning for some piece of that child hood ignorance and how nice it would be to go back to adolescence. I can’t help but feel sad remembering a time when nothing mattered, everything was my imagination, not just a made up boy.