Dream Boy (My Drunken One)

For the first time in my life I truly understand what a dream boy is. You are too beautiful, too amazing, too good too exist. You have to be a dream; you must exist entirely in my dream. My dream, my boy- You whose failings I cannot see, whose flaws are qualities and imperfections are blanketed by all the perfections that you possess.

Every time I walk and the thought of you comes into my mind I have to stop for fear of falling down in the middle of traffic, every time I eat and your image flutters from my heart to my head I stop chewing to stop my breathing becoming confused with my swallowing, every time I sit at the window and look out at the silhouetted rooftops late into the night and your name is whispered on the voice of the leaves as they brush up against the wind I have to hold on to the window ledge for fear of falling to death.

Oh but Death for a dream boy, a true dream boy, would not be so bad. To die for complete and utter perfection and beauty and love now they are all causes one could be proud of! To be cut from the rose bush so you can be placed in a vase next to the perfect orchid of perfection whom grows indoors and sit there for three heavenly days to admire him and then whither and die. Well, at least you have felt true passion; at least you have felt the passion of the ancient demigods.