I dreamed far too vividly of the man I’m trying to forget, and now I can’t wake up.

I asked him why he was kissing me now when so many times before he refused and he said he should have kissed me then. We made love in a strange and intense fashion that never actually involved making love. I swore he looked exactly how I’d dreamed he’d look without a shirt. (Which makes a certain amount of sense since this was a dream.) Lean and muscular and red and lightly haired. Beautiful. It’s always been a fascination of mine to see him that way. He told me he was a Nazi, but not of the Jew-hating kind and we made love some more. I wondered if that was why he kept his hair so short. He talked about his father. He kissed hard and rough and never opened his lips no matter how I tried to part mine.

In the last moments I made to lick the long tendon of his neck and in so doing found he had turned on his stomach and away from me. I told him again how lovely he was and he responded by storming on about how he was more than his looks and leaving for good.