3:oo a.m

11th February,  

display_imageI closed my eyes again, and this time I did not have long to wait. First it was sort of a tiny dot, that gradually enlarged by itself just as an ink spreads on paper. It was moving; and by “it” I mean her silhouette. “Her” because that silhouette was a woman’s, though I never did see her face, nor hear her voice. But she talks to me. And I have reason to believe she’s blind. It has been a while since I admitted, but perhaps, permitted, her into my company. Why? No reason. No, I do not know how to divulge my reason. I’ve always been solitary in my dreams. I have killed people. I’ve dreamt of a baby—our baby; mine and that man that I like, though he was not included in that vision. I find it amusing that everything seems real during a dream. And so did she, when once I was dreaming, the origin of which I cannot remember, only distinctly that I dreamt I was asleep and was lying on my side, and that I turned suddenly only to feel a certain presence at the foot of my bed. She was sitting there, and I felt her eyes poring over me. I opened mine eyes and she was gone; the darkness of the room all ’round being the only “thing” that welcomed my sight. I felt myself sweating and my heart beating fast. I badly needed air, hence so roused myself, and once the window opened, let the wind flow within. 

I dared not go back to bed. Her presence felt so real that I never even once forgot her. Not even with the days gone by; though I don’t think about her in public, it feels almost as if subconsciously, she’s always there. It is something I did not notice at first, but at length, I have acquired the habit of closing mine eyes whilst imagining her face. No, I do not contradict myself for indeed, I did not see her, not even recently—but I feel her, and always there is this aching feeling that somehow, I know her face. 

I closed my eyes and there she was. She came. Or I came. I did not have long to wait. She does not know that I’ve resolved to write about her. About us. There she rocks herself, seemingly. And here I sit. It must be her bed. I looked at where I knew she was, but she wasn’t really there. Only the rocking chair. It faces the window, which looks on towards what appears to be a prairie. There are trees visible, but they are so tiny, hence they must be so far away. At length she spoke to me and asked whether it was possible to reach the stars? “No doubt, not”, she added. 

But then again, I cannot ascertain the quality of her voice. I hold only the certainty that she spoke. Anyhow to her query I did not reply; she did not need an answer. 

I wonder if I’m going crazy, but I love her company. I don’t understand myself but somehow I know she’s blind, as I have before mentioned. Although this stands against that first instance that I dreamed of her whence I felt her piercing gaze. I asked her whether she’s blind once, but she did not answer. Yet after that, through a vision, a face was shown me, blindfolded, except I plainly perceived the same face’s sockets being empty. How so? I do not know. 

’twas also through my habitual closing of mine eyes that sometimes result to slumber that once I found myself inside a carriage, looking on to the night. She was there, but also not there. I imagine her peering through the same window when she asked, “Do you think it possible to follow that moon yonder, and be directly under it?” 

“W-what? No—no.” I answered. I was then confused and therefore did not know what to say. I never considered anything of the kind except that I look at the moon for I find her so beautiful. Sometimes the trees obscure her, sometimes the clouds, but she emerges more beautiful than when I last saw her. 

“We could travel all night. Night here does not end.” 

“Hence our travel will never end.” I chuckled, instinctively turning as though I were talking to someone visible—but I found her not. And yet somehow, I know she chuckled too, perhaps smiled. 

Next thing I know I’m wide awake, in front of my mirror. My hair was half done. I’ve become thinner. How? Oh, I remember. I’ve not been eating right. But this I must add, I am better now…


2:42 am

832b288bcdcc0722e1c5f546b930c23f‘twas an occasion marked by the absence of sound; a calm, wispy night. Here and there bursts of laughter ensue, strangers gather ‘round tables and talk of things I know not what; there’s that old dame with an infant on her arms—a smile she bestowed, and vanished. Whilst I… Oh, I am with these faceless friends, with whom I know not what to say; they seem to be talking all at once. Across there he is—strange, but I know. Hell, he must be having such a good time; a smile slowly creeps up my veins. Everything seems to go on forever—the muted glam, senseless and faceless friends which, amidst, only his face registers on my mind. Then, alas! It happened so fast—a tumult caused by that man. I know him—but he does not know me. ‘Well, who am I anyway?’, and so thinking that, I dared not watch, and kept my head bowed, deigning my fingers to do something. It’s either I, who, am in an uproar, or the people ‘round—for, as he advanced, all fell silent… suddenly I felt a hand touch my head, and a voice said, “sorry,” rather playfully. I dared not, yet couldn’t help, but look up—and there he was: strands of my hair he touched…till I felt the side of my face his fingers brushed, as he uttered, “There you are.”