Someone Borrowed.

I remember my dreams. In great detail.
So I find it rather hard not to become attached to the people within them, and often wake very sad to see them gone.

There was a man in a warehouse. With a very dark voice. I was in the rafters, high up and nervous to move. I couldn't see his whole face, but one side seemed to be scarred. So I dare say, the other replicates. He was mumbling to himself, and had a mop and a bucket. He seemed to have trouble focussing on what he was doing. I had been watching him closely for what was a very long time, only seeming momentarily for me, when he looked up into the rafters. And everything stood still.

There was brown. And there was warmth.

It's funny, how you think you've never seen that person before, you'd swear on it that you'd made them up. A little imaginary man in your head.
This one is real though.

I met him at a party. Though he didn't meet me.