Without a name but an identity I am well versed with,
I have known for years…Known him as real as a myth.
Taking few moments I write about him,
Painting a picture my heart holds deep within.
Black shirt tucked in rolled sleeves,
Also a gentle man in Indian weaves.
Subtle beard, he looks into my eyes,
Every time he does that I get stomach butterflies.
He takes me in his arms and hugs me tight.
Play with my hair and make me believe it will be alright.
So I fear nothing when I am with him.
For I know he will be with me through thick and thin.
His smile makes me happy and my tears make him cry.
I adore his innocence, sensitive the way he is. No questions left for ‘WHY?’
When I ask his name and urge him to stay.
He disappears away and I am wide awake.
“Dream? Not again!” I exclaim with a timid laugh.
