and so it is

the shorter story; no love, no glory

no hero in her sky

*

she dreamt of the same thing every night. she was flying, soaring amongst the stars; they were so beautiful, so bright. there was someone beside her, taking her hand, guiding her through the skies. she couldn't see him; he was just an outline, a tall, skinny man with a blurred face. but she knew he was good. love radiated from him. love for this planet, love for the stars and the skies and all that hid beyond it. love for her.

she reaches out a hand and touches the tip of a star. it's hot, so very hot. the burning sensation shoots through her body, making her head pulsate. and her heart throbs as she sees everything, all the colours and the beauty melting away from her and his hand slips from hers. she's so cold, so very alone. her head is still burning and she wants to cry out but she can't speak. and she wakes up back in her room, tears falling down her cheeks and her head feeling like it's going to split into two.

her mum is indifferent – flying? oh don't be so silly, donna. always with your head in the clouds. do something useful and wash the pots for me – and even her grandfather dismisses her dreams – it was just a dream, donna – but there's something else behind his eyes. a spark of recognition and an overwhelming sadness. whenever she mentions these dreams, she senses he wants to tell her something. but there's pain and worry written all over his face, and in the end she just smiles and passes it off as overactive imagination.

but she can't shake that feeling of familiarity. there's something about that man in her dreams. she feels as though she knows him; she feels as though she loves him. but that's ridiculous, because he doesn't exist. she sighs, straightens her suit and heads off to another day of temping. day in, day out; it's all the same. she's only truly happy when she's flying high above the sky, away from her average, every day life. she smiles, sadly.

it's just a dream.