The first time I saw him, he was looking so beautiful, standing in the middle of the road. He looked at me like he thought I was beautiful too. He looked like he was made to stand there, and I admired him for that because I loved the roads.
We both felt like we were made for each other. We both felt most belonged on the roads more than anywhere else; we found love in each other through our belonging nowhere. He didn't talk much but he spoke to me through his eyes and smiles, and the way he brushed my hair away from my face.
The second time we met, we climbed up onto a rooftop that was in plain sight of everyone, and looked at all the people passing by. We judged them, we wondered about their life stories, what could possibly make them laugh or cry at night.
When people started to turn and look at us instead, we decided to give them something to judge by kissing each other. The looks of disgust and disgrace given to us only made us burst out into belly-clutching laughter each time.
The third time we met, love was made in the middle of the road. It was 3 in the morning, and my back was against the asphalt that I've only stepped on my whole life. The texture of the road left marks down my back and on his knees, but they didn't stay very long.
He didn't stay very long either. He died after our third and last meeting.
And I didn't stay very long myself. I didn't even have time to mourn for him, because I had to wake up and go back to the real world.
Had this dream like a month ago, and it still bothers me somehow. I woke up feeling a strong presence, like he was there in my room. Like it's God's way of informing me that my soul mate has died and I will truly be alone.
He didn't stay very long either. He died after our third and last meeting.
And I didn't stay very long myself. I didn't even have time to mourn for him, because I had to wake up and go back to the real world.
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