Sunday thought it was quite startling to feel corporeal again, even after countless nights.

Dreams lingered in a vast universe, its winding labyrinth a maze Sunday was very well accustomed to navigating. Psychedelic gossamer floated like jellyfish in the colorless abstract void of thought, stifling darkness and echoes of eons past lingering as threads that tangled in his fingers and coaxed him towards millions of faux realities.

The first time he found himself drifting to heed the calls of distant voices, it was to appear as a faceless man in the mind of someone he had never met before. He had, in the beginning, thought it was one occurrence. But every other time after that, in consecutive, even intervals, the same mind still called to him. You still called to him. One after another, until he spent more time in your dreams than his own.

Upon the twisting currents of memoria he floated in, you were his only anchor. The only person he ever appeared to; your voice was the one he inevitably found himself drawn to amidst a choir that pulled and ripped at the confines of his surreal realm. Dream after dream, month after month, he stepped into your mind, walking with you and providing companionship until you decided to wake up and bid him farewell.

Tonight was no different for him. He drew his consciousness across the threads of stories one at a time until he came to yours before you could call; you were a song that glowed brighter than any other that had managed to breach his corner of the mindscape.

Sunday knew your name now as you knew his, knew the details of your life as if he’d lived it himself from the conversations you held; now you greeted him like a friend, something more– telling him that you wished he was real. That perhaps you would wake up one day and, like a fairytale, come face to face with him by glorious circumstance.

Oh, how he yearned for the same. How he wished that he might appear next to you as he did in your dreams, spend his life with you by his side– and never fade away. He wanted to be more than an afterthought for you and your beautiful fantasies.

The curtains rose; his vision blurred, and in a hazy recollection he found himself lying down amidst a field of swirling grass. Wind caressed the branches of a willow, leaves rustling with the scent of morning dew. Above him was a starry sky filled with constellations he couldn’t name, pinpricks of luminescence flickering softly, a thousand promises to come and a thousand more unfulfilled.

“The view is exquisite,” Sunday prompted, his touch too gentle when he brushed a piece of hair from your forehead. “Every time, you manage to bring me into a world filled with wonders I have never had the pleasure of experiencing.”

Another pause– a shooting star arced its way past dazzling ether, illuminating the peaceful planes of your face and leaving him momentarily breathless.

“My symphony, I thank you for this,” he continued, voice quieting to a low croon. “Truly, from the bottom of my heart.”