Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

I’ve been fantasizing about spending the day in bed… naked. With red wine. And cookies. And the White Album. And, oh yeah, another person.
I’m not sure who this other person might be. Dashing? So unlikely the mere thought makes me scoff out loud at my ridiculous pain-inducing hope.
There’s a new friend on the horizon… Possibly more than one.
But what I’m drooling over in these flights of fancy is not passion. It’s not about sex or even the nakedness. It’s about the intimacy. I just want to literally and figuratively remove all the barriers between myself and some other person.
I am having vivid dreams of laying naked in a bed reading the Sunday paper with someone.
I am so starved for affection that the idea of being near someone who might brush against my skin is distractingly pleasant. Painfully good to imagine.
And the stupid part? If I could just get over Dashing, I could have this with someone else. If I could love him less, so that I could give up on making it work, or love him more so that I could be even less selfish and stop wanting him to return my affection in the way that I need… This stalemate is driving me a little crazy, which is making me a little twitchy, because I feel a change coming… like a barometric shift. Something’s gotta give… I hope this time it isn’t me.
I just want to play Scrabble, naked, in bed.
And we’re back to the fantasy… Someone pass me a napkin… Or a bib.

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