They always called him a 'Dreamer Without A Dream'. It was true. He drifted in and out of places, he lived his life without much stress- he was a free child growing up; and he attracted people with how beautifully free and easy-going he was. But eventually they all fell away when they couldn't keep up with him. He drifted in and out of people's hearts- slipping in easily- as if he belonged there.

But he didn't belong anywhere. His home was the clouds, his creativity knew no bounds- he was as slippery as sand, as graspable as water. 

With no dream, he chased after butterflies. With no dream, he lived his life. With no steady ground- he walked on thin air. He met people and got along with them- made the people he stood by feel invincible. He made them fall heads over heels for the dreamy fellow- as they fell in love with his sweet embrace, endearing eye smile, soft words, and polite manners- they envisioned a life of no worries and endless happiness when they were together with the Dreamer. But they were wrong. They were terribly wrong. As time slipped by, worries only piled up, and up, and up- and the dreamer drifted away- there were no ropes tying him down, no anchor to the ground. And his lovers were left behind, or they, themselves left their precious dreamer to muse alone on the bench in the park where they first met. They left the dreamer to listen to the quiet waves on the beach- they left the dreamer to gush about the wonders of life to the air. 

Some deemed him crazy. Others thought he was too carefree and careless- the ones who didn't know him thought he was wild, and the ones who knew him thought he was an eccentric being. Poets would describe him as a lighthouse to wandering ships in the raging sea- past lovers would call him a passing dream. 

Friends would argue that he never slept. He lived life in a daze, in a state of half-consciousness, awaiting the day a dream would put him to sleep. Nobody saw him in the same place for too long- he was a fog in cafe owners' minds, a white crayon to bosses and CEOs. An enigma to those who dared approach him and, in a futile attempt, tie him down to their wrists. A favorite song to be replayed over and over again, until something else took its place. 

He would go from person to person, make them realize he wasn't like the others, and leave a scorching mark in their bones as he left. 

His name was whispered to the wind, and distorted when it reached the looming fog. Faintly, his name was soon forgotten, and he gained new identities, one, after another- in such a quick succession that a quicksand would clog up in the face of his many masks. 

Nobody sought after the unattainable, and time whirled away around the man, as if a vortex was surrounding him- as if he existed solely to remind others dreams weren't as pretty as they first appeared.

His hand was unbelievably warm, and hearts broke when he let go. 

His eyes were full of depth, and when he met eyes with the ones who were holding nets to catch him, their breaths would catch in their throat.