He stirred from sleep, greeted by the steady ticking of the clock upon the nightstand. Bottle green eyes loomed in the darkness, matching those of the cream cat lying at the foot of the bed. Across the room, they scanned every nook and cranny, shadow alike. To him, it was like his room became a different place than during the day; almost like an old memory of times he wished to forget.
He rolled over, blonde hair spread across the pillow like threads of silk. The darkness clouded his vision, yet sleep never came. A sigh of weariness escaped the man, soft words of Polish tongue muttered out to break the otherwise still silence. Sitting up, he blinked tiredly at the patterned bedspread, hands clasping the sheets in frustrated. To be frank, he was never too sure why he even bothered trying to fall asleep again. It was futile, and even if he could, he knew the moment he shut his eyes they would only snap open again. The moment he drifted off, that face would appear, an old scene replayed like a movie in his head, and he would wake up again in a cold sweat.
Running a hand through his mused hair, he shivered and exhaled shakily. His breath made a cool whisper in the darkness, a reminder of his lonesome solitude. Out of habit, he glanced over at the other side of the bed, almost hopefully. Yet empty sheets and a cold space greeted his sights, and the hope was diminished by realization and remembrance.
Of course no one would be there to wake with him in the long hours of the night - yet still he always checked and hoped regardless of the fruitless wish. It had been years, decades, maybe even over centuries, since they had last been together - it felt like a millenium to him. But at the same time, it felt like just yesterday he had laid down next to her, closing his eyes to the gentle sleeping form before him. In his dreams, he would awaken to see her face close to his, a smile dotted upon her lips as the early morning sun cast a golden glow upon her features. In those moments, he felt like he was with an angel.
In his dreams, he could touch her, feel her warmth beside him. The soft smooth skin beneath his fingertips, silken locks of platinum blonde under his hands, sensations he treasured.
Only when he awoke truly did the cruel cold reality slap him across the face.
Sometimes, he saw an illusion of her standing before him, in the old cotton nightgown he remember her in. Yet when he tried to reach for her, to merely rest a hand upon her shoulder, she would vanish into nothing and leave him alone again.
He whispered, out into the darkness.
"Why do you haunt me?" Why do I dream of you.
Sometimes, he imagined someone answering back to him; but as with any thought, not an answer existed for him.
swinging his legs over the side of the bed, startling the cat from sleep, he relished the freezing hardwood beneath his bare feet. He glanced at the clock; four AM. Standing, he trudged over to the door, mind foggy and exhausted. The hallway was dark, the only light coming from the moon casting a silver glow from the window. His house was neither big nor small, just adequate. A little home in the country, away from the city and all the noise of cars and people at night. Outside, the silhouette of the barn and stable sat peacefully, fields stretching out behind for miles. Crickets chirped, and somewhere in the distance an owl hoot. Berick meowed at his feet, weaving between his legs hopefully. Yet he ignored the cat, not willing to let him outside with the risk of coyotes running about.
The kitchen table lamp lit with a click, his hand falling away from the tassel. Forehead hitting the wood, he groaned softly, enjoying the cool sensation against his warm skin. He closed his eyes, humming gently under his breath. Her face appeared before him, sending him snapping up in a heartbeat. slapping a palm to his face, he swore harshly, angered at himself. Why was she always on his mind whenever he could not sleep?
It drove him insane, yet the harder he looked, the less of an answer he got. It seemed, in a sense, he was in denial or disbelief. Yet staring ahead at the mess of papers upon the table, he knew it was not a simple occurring thought. One sheet, folded at the creases, caught his eye. He reached over, grasping it with an unsteady hand, the inked words illuminated in the glow of the lamp.
It wasn't as though they never spoke to each other, not at all. But certainly, they saw less of the other besides the odd occasion and at world meetings. Even then, only glances for brief moments were shared. But in lieu of the issue, they still communicated.
Despite what most of the world thought, Feliks was very put off of most modern technology. He supposed, perhaps, that this was because of his age as a country, but then again there were others older than him who were quite in tune with cell phones, email, and computers of the like. Japan had surprised him immensely with his knowledge of electronics and the internet, but then again, he was more adapted to such ideals than Feliks was. Not to say he was completely isolated, he had a laptop and mobile, but used them less than expected. Mostly just for business more than personal use, but he wasn't crippled without it. Personally, he preferred old fashioned means of communication, like letters and actually visiting the person rather than "Skyping" them (he still failed to see how Estonia got a kick out of the damn program - it still scared the daylights out of him to have a call came up while he was online).
She was the same; they wrote to each other, back forth like students passing notes in class. Not love or crushing messages, but simple conversations they could not uphold otherwise face to face. As his eyes scanned the aged paper, he felt a sinking sensation in his chest. It started small, yet grew bigger into a dull throb pounding against his heart. Swallowing, tracing her signature with his finger, looping over the "K" and "E" like she had written them. The loneliness echoed across the empty space of the room, boomeranging back to hit him full force.
The kettle on the stove screamed, bringing him out of thought. Pouring himself a cup of tea, something he found helped calmed his nerves, he inhaled the aroma of herbs from the rising steam. Through the open window, the cool night air billowed in, carrying with it the smell of barley and wheat. He sat back down, letting the memories take hold of his conscience.
He remember the old field they used to run through, how she once tripped and knocked him over, sending them sprawling across the grass. Her sweet laughter ringing across the air like a bell, crystal clear. On that night, he held her close, feeling her heart beat next to his. He sang softly, voice carried away by the summer breeze.
It was only then in winter years later did he return to that spot alone, to sing the same song though she would not be there to hear it again.
It hurt him, to know that such a time between them was gone and lost. How they had fallen apart, he didn't want to remember. The pain in his chest increased, the old war scars flaring up. It was tragic, in his mind, to see how they separated and fell farther than they ought to have. Yet no matter how hard he wish, time could not be undone. Mistake could not be unmade, and decisions undecided. What was done was done, and nothing could change the way things were now.
Sad, how the only way they could really talk was through written words now, instead of being verbal. Maybe they were scared, maybe they were too broken to do anything now. Sighing, he rested his chin on his palm, glancing over at the empty chair across from him.
'She once sat there... when I could not sleep...'
"Why are up so early? It's barely light out".
Standing in the doorway, she tilted her head, her sleepy gaze cast upon him. The white nightgown brushed her feet, hair slightly mused as it fell upon her shoulders. It was longer then, reaching just past her shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkled with curiosity, watching her husband sigh and slouch more over the table.
"Couldn't sleep" he murmured, hands spaying over the wooden table top.
"Боїтеся?"
He heard her approach, footsteps light against the floor. She took a seat next to him, features illuminated by the soft glow of the candlelight. Even in the dim glow, he could see she was exhausted; guilt gnawed slightly at his heart at having awoken her from slumber when she needed it the most.
Silence ensued between the two, aside the soft hum of crickets in the fields outside.
"Sing to me" she whispered, drawing herself closer to him. "Please, sing to me that song again".
He looked at her briefly, a weary sigh escaping him. Yet he complied, parting his lips to softly whisper a gentle song into the night.
"Ciepłe wiatry, znajdź mnie
Zabierz mnie z powrotem do tego czasu
Kiedy pierwszy raz zobaczyłem możesz napotkać
W ledwo i pszenicy
W domu Ojca mego pola"
She rested her head upon his shoulder, eyes closing in contentment. He continued to sing, wrapping an arm around her comfortingly, the soft hum of her breathing against his neck calming and soothing. Outside, the first light of day broke through the horizon, the sun poking its head up at the start of dawn.
He blinked, the room growing dark and vacant once again. The memory faded away, as did any warmth he felt inside of him. Shivering, he drew his arms around himself; in those lost moments, he truly felt more alone than before. Every moment and memory haunted him like a lost ghost, wandering aimlessly through his head with nowhere to settle.
Glancing up at the window, he could see the stars begin to fade away from the dark blue sky. Soon morning would come, another autumn day in his long life. Each season brought new memories, new dreams for him.
"Zaśpiewam dla ciebie jeszcze raz ..." he murmured softly.
"Wiatry nocne szeptać do mnie
Wywołanie mojego imienia
Słyszę twój głos w nich
I pamiętam
pamiętam
Letnie słońce na skórze
Ciepły i gładki do mojego dotyku
Chciałem poczuć to na zawsze
To słodkie uczucie
W moim sercu na zawsze
Moja słodka sokoła
Chcę wznieść się znowu z Tobą
W czyste niebo niebieskie
Bez obaw i strachu
Od upadku ponownie
Rozwinąć skrzydła
I polecieć w nocy
Leć daleko od nienawiści i gniewu
Do miejsca, gdzie szczęście jest
Gdzie nasi prevails miłość
Jesień wita nowy czas
Miejsce i nowy sen
Ale bez względu na porę roku
Jesteś teraz jeden
Ja zawsze długo na
mroźne zimy
Zamrażać nas i ugryzł naszą skórę
Ale razem z tobą
I było cieplej niż każdego pożaru
Z tobą obok mnie
Moja słodka sokoła
Chcę wznieść się znowu z Tobą
W czyste niebo niebieskie
Bez obaw i strachu
Od upadku ponownie
Rozwinąć skrzydła
I polecieć w nocy
Leć daleko od nienawiści i gniewu
Do miejsca, gdzie szczęście jest
Gdzie nasi prevails miłość
Wiosna przyszła znów
Coś stało się nowe
Ale niezależnie od tego, co jest i nie jest
Chcę wznieść się z tobą jeszcze
Moja słodka sokoła
Moja słodka sokoła
Nieważne, jak daleko Ja jestem
Albo co czas i miejsce jest
Będziesz zawsze być, zawsze do mnie
Ten orła sercem i duszą"
The tea in his hands was cold by the time he finished, yet he could have cared less. Soon morning would come, and the dreams would be forgotten in the hustle and bustle of daily life. In the town down the road, people would start to awaken to the sound of chirping birds and bright sunshine. Children would laugh and play, adults getting ready for the day. Stores would open up and schools would begin. Farmers would begin work, as he would in a mere few hours. Time for work with no pondering, everything would slip his mind in the summer heat. By afternoon, nothing would be important to him again. Yet once night fell again, the cycle would repeat.
Setting his cup aside, he ran a hand through his hair. He need to sleep, if he was going to get anything done today. Retracing his steps back upstairs, he strokes his cat upon the head, receiving a purr in response. Falling into bed, he stared up at the ceiling dully. Her memory crossed his mind once more, a sigh escaping past his lips.
Perhaps work could wait, just for today.
Maybe he would write back today.
Maybe he would call her, even if it meant using his cobwebbed cell phone.
Maybe he would visit her again.
"Why do I get stuck on you so much?" he asked in dismay.
Without a second thought, he turned over and closed his eyes.
He wanted to dream of her, even if it was fake.
If only for now... he was content.
"Kocham cię ..."