And he is fictional
I lay in bed
Staring into the darkness
He is next to me
I want to reach over and caress his shoulder
Stroke his hair and his jaw lined with stubble
He lies on his side facing me
Our eyes could meet and neither of us would ever know
I'd run my hand along his knuckles
But I can't
For he is a brilliant writer's creation
The room is pitch black
And he
Is fictional