I dreamed a dream

I had a dream last night that stuck with me. A dream where I was getting to know someone in a way that if I had slept a little longer, if my brain synapses had fired off the right connections, would have surely evolved into something romantic. It left a quiet, soft warmth in the pit of my belly.

There's a guy (in real life) whom I see at the Downtown Crossing T stop fairly regularly at the same spot (the platform near the end of the train going toward Forest Hills) and around the same time (5 p.m). I find him achingly cute and have for the longest time--maybe since October? There's something...endearingly dainty about him. He's not so tall, very slender, always well put together, always wearing the most beautiful glasses. I imagine he's the proprietor of some "Aristanal [insert any noun] Shoppe." We stand next to one another on that platform enough so that I never worry it'll be the last time I see him; and I stand alone enough so it's always a shock to my system, a flip of my stomach when he walks up next to me. One time I swore he craned his neck to watch me get up from my seat and walk out of the train. I think he is the first person I allowed myself to be attracted to, to have a little meaningless, shallow crush on, after my ex and I broke up.

So anyway this dream was about him.

I sat next to him on the T, struck up a conversation and enjoyed easy, natural talk. He was going to a bar I was all too familiar with and would I like to join him? A yes couldn't have poured out of my mouth any quicker. Then, as dreams are wont to do, all of the sudden we were somewhere else. We were already friends, loose-lipped and giddy. Wherever it was we were alone and I desperately wanted him to kiss me, or fuck me, or give me any easy excuse to press our flesh together. It didn't happen, but I wasn't disappointed because the company of this new-found friend was enough for now.

And that was it. This dream makes me feel comfortable and content, perhaps only because my subconscious acted as it should have: playing out a sweet short story in the grey slimy mess of my brain what I hopelessly cannot play out in life. I'm pleasantly surprised there's not even a tinge of lonely and pathetic lurking behind those feelings; their swallowing blueness will take hold of me some other day I suppose.

Maybe this dream is a prophecy and I'll talk to him one day. Maybe I'll find out he's terrible, married, gay, or all three. Maybe I'll just nurse this grade-school crush and do nothing except steal glances at him on the train and remember how I feel right this very moment.