Twice-told story by Francisco

This twice told story may be confusing. I -as the main character- am going to expose my experiences during what I consider unusual days.
Right now I am writing about some place where some pretty girl and I are living. The story begins last night when I dreamed of a girl with long straight black hair, pale green eyes, white skin and a sensitive smile. For me she was perfect, it was all I remembered, it was all I needed. All I needed to know was that I was dreaming and that I wanted to make it real. This led me to the following conclusion: as soon as I awake I had to make a draw of her. Then, I would give her feelings through words. I’d provide her with all that makes you human: emotions, sensitivity, tastes, movements and smells. I would make her alive by telling a story. Some say that if you give sense to words you can create life. Ancient cultures devoted to writing used to teach this knowledge in the first centuries. Researchers have found a school of thought specialized on these kinds of studies. They believed in worlds created with words in which people actually lived, feeling happiness and pain, although they also knew the risk this practice involved.
The goal I had was to make a dream come true by taking life from the world of subconscious and putting it into the world of eternity. I forgot about everything else I had to do during those days, I just focused on believing in the possibility to do what I wanted. I began by drawing her in such a deep-meticulous way upon a huge piece of cardboard. It was insane. I was amazed of my new behavior but I didn’t care much about it and I just kept on working. Then I started with some words describing in detail the place where only the two of us would prevail; beautiful spaces in different shades of colors which were almost painted in oils. Then I made her appear in there but unlike oil-like landscapes she was detailed in high definition. I gave her senses and a soul and she opened her eyes to feel it real, from that moment on she walked out of my dreams shaped into an exquisite flesh and bone woman. After having finished her as a complete and perfect human being (I thought so), I was reborn by her side. She was all I wanted and I was all she had. Now I keep on writing or, I better say, building a world with no daylight, telling her I will always be there for her. And it seems to me like I’ve been living here for thousands of years. We have done everything that a human has ever imagined, we tried all I invented. But now I’m tired, now I’m bored of being here alone with her. I am sitting on a desk writing how I`ll get rid of all of this and she comes closer from behind and kisses me on the neck. I may write that I am happy indeed, but it is not real happiness because something goes beyond my nature (I already tried it). I am the god of my own worlds but I am not the god of my own essence.
So I am thinking this: since it is a simulated world, it has the intrinsic principle of capability to be destroyed. The masters of cultures of writing studied thoroughly these phenomena, there is a legend of some master who could create a balanced world where he kept living, and nobody knows for sure whether he existed or not. -The truth is: if he is not in the world we all know there is a possibility in which he is living in his own world. - So as the ancient masters did, I decide to end with the pages and to go back to the life I had before. I would say goodbye to her in painful words for both. She will be always on my mind until my death, but her pain of losing me won’t last long, by contrast she’s going to die as soon as I burn these pages. Goodbye my darling. Someday the words we all inhabit will condemn our existence.
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(Second version)

Last Monday I dreamed of a girl, and I remember exactly the way she looked like. I think about her all the time so I want to write a story for her. Later I might dedicate the story to someone who reminds me of this dream.