Midnight Lover

The soft feel of wind surrounded her.
Her midnight lover had returned.
Soft gentle kisses
of an imaginary man,
she treasures them.

Every night,
she stays up late,
waiting until the daylight is far away.
And she thinks up a man.

This man has the kindest blue eyes,
and light red eyebrows gracing his brow bone.
Curly auburn hair sits atop his head,
and an adorably crooked smile is on his lips.
This man has scruff on his face, a gentle tickling of
red facial hair.
Eyes that she claims are perfect.

This is her midnight lover.
He is nine years older than her,
and a real man.

He does not speak,
for she does not know how his voice sounds.
But his voice is implanted in her head,
although he might have said nothing.

His breath tickles her ear
and she smiles with a made-up memory.
Her midnight lover,
never makes love to her.

She does not lust after him.
Not at all,
He is her oxygen,
her joy,
her sadness,
and hope.

He does not know she exists,
but she very much knows he does.
Many nights she fell asleep,

Imagining.

Imagining her midnight lover is there,
holding her from behind her back.
Holding her in thick long pale arms,
rough with red hair.
She imagines tracing his veins with her eyes,
as she feels him breathe against her back.

She needs this man.
Every night.
A good day is when she sees a picture of him,
or gets to mention him to someone.

But no one knows-
that he is her midnight lover.

The breeze that flows through her room
when the windows remain closed,
that only she can feel.

She worries about him.
Does not know his middle name,
or if he has one.
Does not know if he has a significant other.
But that would not matter.
She would continue getting visits from him.

She worries when he looks distracted.
Looks sick,
worried,
disappointed,
or depressed.

She feels the need to comfort her midnight lover.
But he does not know about her.
Does not know she exists in the world,
that he as a secret admirer.
Probably does not know the town she lives in.

And yet he seems so real to her.
Not a lot of people know him.
Or think he is beautiful, like she thinks.
But she knows him.
Feels a connection.

And when she lays her head down on her pillow at night.
She can feel him stroke her cheek before she falls asleep,
deep in the protective arms of her midnight lover.

She has memories that she believes she has made up.
Memories of snow,
rain,
kissing,
and fighting.

Every one of them is cherished by her.

He visits her at night,
as her
Midnight lover.
Even if he does not know it.