Fantasy in the Flesh

I bagged the shirt I was wearing that night.

Zip locked and put away like evidence. I wish I could bottle his essence.

The man in general is unimportant, but what he symbolizes is the dream.

Fantasy, in the flesh. He personified my mind’s desires.

The passion I felt with him, the excitement, the arousal, the mutual appreciation for sensual touch, words, public makeouts.

I guess I’m trying to hold on to the intricacies of the night so I can remember it’s possible.

Remember feelings like this are possible and I shouldn’t settle. Remember men like him exist and I’m not asking for too much.

I want to remember that this is real, this is possible. There is no reason to settle.

This man in particular is not for me, but this type of man is the thing I crave.

I’ve collected his essence to extend my temporary forever. I will sniff this shirt and remember.

Remember that I can find love with a dreamer.

2 thoughts on “Fantasy in the Flesh

  1. Extending your temporary forever, fantasy in the flesh—I love these notions. There’s such a sensuality in these liminal spaces and feelings. Like time doesn’t exist, place doesn’t exist.

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