"A serene soul.
Dwells within a serene mind.
And a serene.. mind..?
No no no. Far from correct. Where did the saying come from? Why is it all too familiar yet so distant from memory? It feels more like a phrase that was conjured up in mind after thinking much too long about an aesthetic quote. Yet it feels somehow unfulfilled and strange.
Where did it start? And where did it end?
If you remember enough, it's almost like you can see it. She remembers standing at the top of a staircase looking down at the next stepping stone to better a partnership with someone she shared her life with.
It wasn't difficult. It was easy when the two worked together like a well oiled machine as they always seemed to do so.
She remembers him. But not as he was now. He was somehow different; naive, immature. The little things about him. His clothes, his body shape, his hair, his face. His face seemed to give her a slight jolt forcing her eyes open to stare at a blank and plain ceiling.
She rolled over to face him but somehow staring at his face for what was probably the millionth time; it was different. She saw somebody different and somebody that never changed.
Her fingers traced over his bare chest running along the scar that was now merely a slight flesh discoloration in the form of a line running from his collarbone to the opposite side at his waist.
It was always there. Always lingering with some hidden guilt the both burdened. She knew how it came to be. She was there. But the depiction of some other event clouded her mind.
She'd simply labeled these thoughts as nothing more than her imagination running free with day dreams about a high school life where she was a trained and skilled fighter. Sometimes she liked the thought of her imaginary life better than her current one. But then she looks at his face and is reminded of why she prefers reality of imagination every single time.
However, lately imagination has been much more active, even going as far as to confuse her in which is reality and which is fiction.
Her thoughts feel more real each time she reenters them and soon she has this entire plot of another life conjured up in her mind.
She began to think about it again. So much so that she eventuay found herself drifting back off into a sleep that harbored enough material to make its way into a dream.
A dream that would seem to last weeks, months, even years long. The same dream she would always have. The reason she believed she wasn't who she really was.