I dreamt about him again. He came to me at night in my bedroom, only it was not mine. It was much more beautiful and grand— the kind that came out of a fairy tale. I was standing by an open window and he took my hand from behind, turning me towards him. The way he looked at me can only be described as the way every girl dreams a man to look at her. I stepped towards him and his head immediately bowed down, capturing my lips in a kiss.

Within a moment later I was laying on my back bare to him as he was me. He crawled over top of me, his eye contact never faltering and I could feel how much he wanted me as he brushed against my thigh. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I urged him on and he complied. As he rode me, I could barely control my voice at the combining sensations. I vividly remember looking up into his eyes all the while and became even more breathless at what I saw. His hair was freely flowing and framing his face elegantly as he looked down at me with his beautiful, green eyes; I was in complete awe.

It did not take long until his movements became less coordinated, less perfect because he was beginning to lose himself with me. An instant later and we reached our ends together. It would have been perfect if I could only still be there right now.

It's silly really, how he keeps showing up in my dreams, and always the same man. Black long hair, pale skin, and piercing green eyes. I often wonder if he's real. If he was, I know I would recognize him in an instant. My dreams seem so real when I'm in them, and when I wake up I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, and his voice in my ear.

"Mine," he would often say, low and whispered.

I would always smile back to him and respond, "Yours."

He would always be pleased by that.

She stopped her pen. She had been recording her dreams in this journal ever since the incident. Her therapist told her that her dreams may help her to remember her past. Sometimes, she said, memories can return in the form of dreams. But her dreams were just plain baffling.

When she first had one, she felt ashamed at the vulgarness of it. But the more she had them, the more curious she became of them. The man in them was always the same. She did not recognize him from anywhere else, nor did she know his name. But his face lingered in her mind vividly.

She stared absently at the window, sifting through other dreams she had of him. He was her lover existing only within her mind, yet what she could not comprehend, is where he came from. He had too many distinct qualities that she simply could not have made up, like his long, jet black hair that framed his face giving him the look of a mad man; and the way he appeared out thin air, beckoning her to come with him; or the scars on his torso with origins she did not understand. Every detail she could remember as though it had been carved within her mind. But how could she have dreamed of man of whom she never met with such clarity?

She stole a glance at the clock. It showed 8:07AM. She had an early appointment with her therapist at 8:30 the first Tuesday of every month and she was never late. Grabbing her apartment keys, she made for the door. It was not far by any means, but seeing as she had no car, she would walk there as she walked everywhere she needed.

The walk was exactly how you'd expect a stroll through New Jersey to be. Her ears rang with traffic noises, her nose was filled with the scents wafting from food trucks as they began setting up for the day ahead, and the air was bitter against her pale skin. It was going to be winter soon, and she hadn't broken out her coat yet.

When she reached the small building, she walked over to the glass door and allowed herself through, thanking the heavens that it was warmer inside. After signing in on the clipboard, she was greeted instantly by her therapist, a tall skinny lady named Emily. "Good morning, dear. I'm ready for you if you want to head on over to my room," Emily spoke, smiling warmly to her.

As she followed her back, Emily questioned the girl, "Are you still going by Rose?"

"When I must," she replied glumly. She didn't like going by the name when she knew it wasn't her own. When she woke in the hospital, the older couple that brought her in left her pink roses. She remembered how devastated she became upon realizing they were the only gift left for her because no one else had ever came. Later on, when the nurse asked what she wanted to go by since she hadn't any form of identification, she said the first thing that came to her mind which was Rose.

"I think Rose is a lovely name," Emily replied sitting down at her chair, crossing her legs. Rose sat on the sofa opposite. "So what's on your mind today?"

"I'm still trying to find myself I guess," she supplied dismally and nearly methodically.

"No word of your past?"

"No, I haven't heard anything. Although there was this man once who waved to me and I thought he knew me. But then I learned it was meant for someone else nearby."

Emily gave her a pitiful look, "Have you been able to meet new people?"

"Yes. Well I mean, I have Candace of course."

Rose had known Candace from the beginning. It had been during her second week at the hospital, and Candace was brought in after being in a three car pile up. She came out of it with a broken arm and some stitches, but nothing longterm. Not like Rose.

"And James, I think he still wants to be more, but that's not–" Rose took a breath, "I just do not feel as though it's my decision to make. I mean, what if the other girl had someone of her own?"

Emily sighed and laid her flowered clip board down on the end table. She may have not been much older than Rose, but the look she gave her was the look a concerned mother would give her daughter. "That may be true, my dear, but you've been out and about for nearly two years now. Don't you think if there was someone, he would have came for you by now?"

"I just find it hard to believe that I would have no one," she said, letting a little frustration seep though her voice. "No family, no friends, not even a single person who cares enough to tell me what my name is."

"Maybe it's time to begin fresh and not worry about the other girl or anyone she might have been aquainted with," Emily offered. "Began making memories of your own, maybe with James."

Rose sighed. "Perhaps... I just wish I knew something about my past."

"I understand you are frustrated as anyone in your situation would be. But you may have to accept the possibility that the person you're looking for isn't out there. You don't deserve to spend your life waiting around for someone to show you what kind of person you are. That's something you can find out for yourself."

Rose dropped her gaze, not liking the truth of her words. To believe them would be to strip away the only hope she had been clinging onto all this time. That maybe he wasn't out there.

"Yeah, I suppose..." Rose was mindlessly looking out the window. Just like the dream she had that morning when she was simply gazing out the window right before he came to her and...

"What are you thinking about, Rose?" Emily's soft voice spoke after a few quiet moments.

She drew her gaze back towards Emily, a faint blush on her cheeks, and shifted forwards in her seat. "Do you remember those dreams I mentioned to you about a while ago?"

"The man with the green eyes?"

She nodded her head.

"What can you tell me about them?"

"Well they've been occurring a lot lately, and I'm not sure what to make of them."

"How often are you having them?" Emily asked.

"Nearly every night."

Emily retrieved her clip board. "Can you explain them to me or tell me why they concern you more than other dreams?"

"Well, when I dream about him, everything is incredibly clear– it's unlike any dream I've ever experienced. His face I can picture perfectly and his voice too. In fact, I drew I picture of him," she began shuffling through her bag. She then pulled the paper out and handed it to Emily, "Here." Emily looked at the page, "Do you think it could mean something? That he's out there? Or that he's coming? I know some people believe dreams are messages, premonitions even. If it weren't for the nature of these dreams I wouldn't think anything of it, but–"

Emily met Rose's hopeful gaze with sympathy. "Rose," she politely interrupted.

The girl stopped talking, and looked to her therapist, the hope immediately trickling down her face.

"We have no way of knowing that your dreams mean anything. People have had suspicions in the past, yes, but that isn't based on any fact or proof. The likeness that your dreams hold that kind of significance is... unlikely. But as I've said before, our dreams are often based off past experiences we've had in our lives, so while they may not be an exact replication of a certain event, they will consist of certain parts of one which leads to the likeness that this man was real and was someone you once knew."

"That doesn't explain why they've been occurring more often..."

"Reoccurring dreams can develop during periods of stress. Perhaps not being able to fit in or identify yourself may have caused a desire for companionship and be the source of their reoccurrence."

The hope in the girl's eyes flickered, nearly going out. Emily handed the paper back to her, and she mindlessly took it, before staring down at the man she drew with such precision, every detail of his face drawn exactly how she remembered...

"What do I do?"

"I would advise that you begin by stopping no longer drawing pictures or writing down anything about him. Try to keep your mind off him as much as you can." Emily handed back the paper.

Rose took it in her hands, staring down at the picture. "So I should just try to forget about him?"

"You don't have to forget about him. You just need to learn to live a life without him in the picture."

Emily's advice, as sound as it was, did not stop Rose from thinking about him long after she left from her appointment. If anything, she thought about him more, contemplating over and over in her head, the idea of moving on without him. But it proved to be far more difficult then she had ever anticipated. Even though she could barely list a thing about him, she felt like she knew everything about this man. He had to be real. He just had to be.

"Rose. Can you seat that person at the door?"

She blinked her eyes a few times, after zoning out again– this time at work. She had somehow managed to bag a job at the diner despite her lack of any and all information regarding herself. They seemed in awe from her story and she presumed she got it mostly by pity.

"Yes ma'am," she replied to her manager. She walked over to the counter, "Hello, welcome to Jerry's Diner. How many?"

"Three," the man replied. He stood next to a woman and a small boy. A wife and son.

"Alright," she said, staring at them. "Come right this way." She lead the three of them to their table, requested their orders and was off again. She just wanted this day to be over. Her job, although she was very much grateful for it, was not career material. It was only meant to be temporary, until she could identify herself again, but she had been working for nearly two years now. Perhaps Emily was right. The old her isn't coming back.

Hi everyone. This is an idea that I've been wanting to put to paper for sometime. If you like it, please favorite or comment anything. It would make me immensely happy and more motivated to get the chapters out in a timely manner. Thank you all for giving the time to read this.