Most of the dreams about her are silent like a calm and deep lake. They are deep, intense but extremely calm. Nothing seems to stir them up. Or maybe she is herself a dream. She is calm, her views deep and her eyes, intense. She is a dream indeed. A beautiful dream.
The first time I saw her was in a small, dimly lit room. The light was a blend of tangerine and blue shades. It seemed the spring had married the autumn. In dreams two entirely disparate entities blend in so perfectly that their separation seems an injustice with the nature, with the essence of blending. There she was, lying on the bed, her head resting on a white fluffy pillow that should have comforted her. But she was not at ease. She got up a little and reclined her head on my chest. I caressed her head, ran my fingers through her long, dry but smooth hair. She felt at ease. A few moments later… I don’t know how to count the moments in a dream… Was it like an epoch that we remained like that or an eternity? Next I rose a little from my bed and she hugged me like she wanted to bury herself in me, like she had found in me some solace, like she felt compete that way. Then there was an absolute darkness. Nothing preceded or succeeded this beautiful memory. It was fragment of solace, a blissful fragment. The dream ended and I woke up to my reality.
Dreams always come in fragments, with every fragment a deep and serene realm in its own right. Every dream has its own reasons. I dream not what I desire but what my parallel life could be like. They are sometimes an escape and sometimes a clear reflection of my past, my present but never the future.
How did it feel when she hugged me in my dream? While I am awake now, feeling everything around me, this biting cold, the tapping of the keys on the keyboard, the inability to describe the depth of feelings of that dream, I still feel her hand around my back, her warm breath around my neck, her warm trembling face against mine, her heartbeat intensifying my heart and her silence filling the void between us. I feel her with me as I write this. I live with a dream in my wakefulness.
She appeared in fragments too, in dreams. But everytime she visited me, she remained calm as if I knew her silence, as if the words had lost their essence after she had filled the void between us, as if a bond had been developed that transcended every understanding and language, that connected the two hearts, the two souls. Everytime she visited me, she looked serene, thoughtful and at peace, as if she had lived for an eternity and known the meaning of life. She was living a dream.
The last time I saw her, she held my hand in her both hands and pressed it gently. Then she looked into my eyes for a long time that seemed to stretch to an eternity. That was the first time I felt the depth of her eyes, the calmness surrounding them, a peaceful path leading me further into them towards an endless arena of love, joy, melancholy and an incomprehensible feeling that ended at the very intense core of her eyes. Her eyes revealed to me a world that she carried with her all the time. She had created it, preserved it and possessed it in her eyes. The world was her dream. She led me into her dreams and made me a part of her world.
When I woke up ere break of dawn, I took a long breath to absorb what I had been led into. I was connecting the fragments of my dream. I was living them in my wakefulness. Only she was unaware.
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