Luvs2smooch: I changed the title. Sorry.
The Dream Diary of an Emotional Train Wreck
A hall. Of some sort. Massive. Round. Towering French windows draped with thin, smooth curtains of varied colors. A slight, cool breeze from the open windows lifted them up and in and morphed them into a colorful 3-D collage. Lean, stained oak paneling lay underfoot, leaving the room with a distinct scent, close to that of a wine cellar. The falling sun reflected off the wood in a beautiful show of dying grace.
And nothing else. The place was utterly empty, void of any furnishing.
Then suddenly, it wasn't.
I was in it…
And I could barely feel it, but…I was dancing. Forth and back, a non-existent rhythm synchronizing his feet…
Whose feet?
Don't be silly, my dear…just look up…
Who…who are you?
Look up…
I did. It was…him. He whose name I hated, whose face I despised.
But…to dance with you…
Thoughts raced each other through my head, and the one that reached the finish line before logic picked it off sounded a little like this: Do it. It's damn worth it.
We stopped. I stood up and took my own weight, hardly realizing that he had been holding me up prior. I smiled at him. His handsome face housed a quaint, pleased smile that I had never before seen cross it. His deep, onyx eyes betrayed the simple fact that he wanted this, too. A small, fluttering sigh escaped my lips. I took a stance and gripped his hand, tightly at first, nervously, then loosened up. Placed the other tentatively on his shoulder…
He took it all in stride and smiled at me again. I felt my face redden and looked down. He brought it back up with an outstretched finger and I gazed into his eyes. We began to step, eyes still interlocked. Lightly, at first, to and across, still lacking any coherent beat. We sped up, gradually. Stepped farther. Soon we were pivoting across the hall. He held me close and flung me out, holding the tip of his hand. Through the hall we went, and as the sun went down, we only gained momentum. Leaping through the air, stepping and running...
...Dancing...with him...without a single coherent care in the damn world, I was dancing with him...
But why?
Because, my dear, because you must wake up...
What?
It is time to wake once more to the pointless life you lead in the silly world you hate...
No...
And suddenly, the expansive room became nothing but white, a clear stain in my mind. Nothing...where was he?
He's gone. Just say it.
But...
Say it, Sakura, for god's sake, say it! Say that he's gone!
He--he's gone...It's over...and he's--
I start in bed, cold sweat dripping down my face. Eyes wide, ears buzzing, temples throbbing. "Gone," I whisper to myself, finishing the sentence I had started in what seemed like an entirely foreign world. I see the white sheets thrown haphazardly across the floor, and guess I had been tossing a bit in my dream. I sit up, feel my hair cling to me in sweaty clumps, hear the unpainted fan beating a faint thumping rthyhm out of the stagnant night air, see the pure light of the moon forming the shadow of a window frame across the uncarpeted floor. I think for a moment, see his face in my mind, and remind myself that he really is gone.
Then I lay back down. Curl myself up. Hope to whittle away the rest of this deathless night without any pointless dreams to surge my hopes back up again, to remind me of the stupid dreams I had once harbored, but at the same time, another part of me actually wishes for even the slightest wavering glance of his face again, so I cry, cry because I can't even agree with myself about it. Cry and think about what I wanted, what I had, what I'll never even get.
A typical night, really.
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