And I never saw him, but in my dream, I knew him

And I never saw him, but in my dream, I knew him, when finally my gaze became a mirror for his face. I wished for time to stop, for the sun to kneel silently, for the wind to seek its freedom, carrying whispers of his eternal presence. And the leaves? I wished they would fall upon him like a golden mantle, a silent welcome, a velvet embrace fallen from the sky, and the butterflies to open their wings, spilling rainbows on his skin, painting him in hues that would make the sky weep with envy. The clouds would be the cradle for the wounds I unknowingly left, offering rain as a tender balm over unseen scars. Now, time freezes in a moment of eternity. He doesn't move, his lashes dance to the rhythm of the wind, his eyes are nocturnal oceans, deep and serene. I guide him to sit, and in the silence that surrounds us, I watch him, lost in the infinity of what he is. No voices, no chaos—just a feeling that knows no bounds. For no reason, tears find their way, my fingers trace the outline of his lips, I call for a silent smile, letting his hair caress his forehead, keeping this moment alive between my fingers. Then, I take the camera and capture this eternity within it, I capture him, capture the moment that flows like a silver river. But this earth, restless and hungry, holds no dominion over him, the rain begins to fall, dressing him in drops of crystal, turning this moment into a poem that writes itself. And yet, I steal glances, keeping something he doesn't even know he gave me, perhaps I will cherish it, hidden deep in my heart, like an untold secret. So innocent. So untouched. But time awakens, and his fingers show signs of life, a sign that I must leave before the dream shatters, before the moment slips into the reality that calls us. One last glance, a silent question: "Is it wrong?" No, it is not. But can I hold him? No, that would be wrong. So I turn away, disappearing like a sigh carried by the wind. Will he remember? Perhaps not. But in his hands, I left something beautiful— an unnoticed gift, but deep as the sea. Perhaps one day, we will meet in a time without stolen moments, in a place where I won't need to make him a living, silent sculpture. Perhaps then, I won't have to leave.