It is easy for you to lose track of time.
Middle-management had never been your calling, and you weren't sure just whose it was exactly. When they had asked you "where do you see yourself in five years?" It had never been behind a desk, staring listlessly at the same spreadsheet as you had the day before.
You never really stopped to question what was being done with the reports. The rates of hundreds of workers beneath you, their usefulness as resources collected through arbitrary numbers. All of it to be read by people you'll never met and corralated in a system that was beyond you.
There was a hunger in you once, you think, one that had howled and gnashed desperately at any opportunity to be. You ate the first meal presented to you eagerly, oblivious to the hand that had given you it.
The blinking cursor waits for you silently. The empty white space beyond it daunting to look at. All that space waiting to be used with only your useless hand hanging lame across the keyboard.
You lean your head back in your chair, looking away from the monitor and its wants, as the world strips away. It's a slow rending, strips peeled down to reveal what is and what is beneath.
Daydreams were not the recognized domain of a god.
They existed in a perpetual nebulous space. Frenetic and ephemeral. only existing between concious actions, a sort of waiting line that anyone could step into but never see the end of.
The destination at the end of that line was formless, without story or myth to give it an identity, to be regulated and shaped to fit within the legal framework of the divine.
You worship despite this. In these small moments where work should be done. Your eyes focus onto the sterile nothing of the ceiling ahead of you as a means to view the blurry images of a life that wasn't yours.
His face is a little easier to recognize here. You made him out of the pieces of those who had caught your eyes before. Those you remembered as the could-have-talked-to and should-have-smiled-at.
Handsome and pale, he stalks forward without weight. He smiles and you can only barely retain the sight, like staring at the sun when you know you shouldn't. Only the impression behind your eyelids stays.
He speaks noiseless words that lose any sense, barely audible in your head, but every one is something you always wanted to hear. The adoration from another, unashamed and without end.
Thin hands hold themselves in yours, soft palms that are willing to join yours. You tighten your hold on the armrest of your chair, it is real and grounded, but you know it could be his touch squeezing back just as easily.
Your heart beats loudly against your chest and this is the reverence the destination requires of you. It melts across the inaccuracies and cracks in your fantasy like molasses, saccherine sweet filling to indulge in without regard to reality.
He and you can be anywhere and anything together. You meet him at his favorite quiet spot, it would be a bookstore or library, somewhere where you can share your interests more easily.
A shared smile between the two of you when you realize that you just have so much in common. You can breathe so easy around him and speak relentlessly without fear.
He is amazing already. He would have to be. You would be too here, where such a thing was possible. You can feel the giddiness that comes when you can impress him and be something shiny in his eyes.
He'll whisper your name with the same tenderness that you have for him. The longing that grips your very being will no longer be.
Value. The destination that all eventually try to come to.
If you simply had that in your actions, you know that this would no longer simply be a reverie. You know how pathetic you are when this is all you can attain in your placid state. Another foolish dreamer feeding the concept of a god.
You look back down to your monitor, the images built up across your mind tumbling down as you begin typing. A few minutes eaten away from the task at hand.
Fingers crash down against cold plastic rather than the warmth that could easily be upon them.
The last thing that leaves your mind is his eyes, waiting at the head of the line. The invitation to step within it again.