Every time I dream of him, he gets more and more real. This is the fourth time that I remember that I knew it was him, and now I don’t even know that he’s any different from all the others that populate my imagination.
He’s ruining me for real life, for the run of the mill nice guys, for the assholes.
I’ve always been terrified of seeing his face, because once I did, it would be IT. Ka-splash. Camphor falls. End of story. So why do I feel bad that he doesn’t exist?