No specific character
She thought dreaming; the Sun rising, grey curtains opening, the sky illuminating her peevish room; she closed her heavy eyelids; she thought dreaming; or silently sleeping. She forgot the day before, the day after, this poor incontrollable and unconcerned time, adjusting as a big clock the seconds flowing, replacing the Moon's tears now disappeared by the infinite blue below our heads.
Unavoidable day, brightening this beautiful world; giving a glow of cheerfulness after the vicious night; people woke up; she followed it without any kind of understanding, leaving her dream; coming back to a reality she hoped running away or just forgiving. Hoping is a big world for our existence; just a wish replacing impossible actions; just some syllables making us falsely happy.
She slowly got up, her movements as long as a political speech or lazy; the lack of conviction losing itself in her blue eyes barely opened; leaving the minimum millimetre possible for her to glimpse the objects around her. Her black hair, without colour or life were down, messy, endless, reflecting her sleepy conscience despite the vivacity of the external world; a tern conscience where a simple candle could enflame and revive her lost body, her astray soul in the storm and the icy cold of the season.
Strangely usual, like a music box repeating itself, she felt arms surrounding her waist, a head put on her delicate shoulder, a hot breathing next to her cold neck. A cadence, a rhythm next to her skin, a heart beating with a precious nonchalance, unique, pleasant; she accepted this suave attention, reciting precise notes on her ephemeral thoughts, improvised melody like forgettable words, yet as real as the stars hidden by the sky clarity.
"Who are you, poor spirit traveller?"
"A soul who runs away and finds you in the dark."
"Don't release me, I couldn't get up again."
"Run with me, I will hold you until I fall from tiredness."
"I could name a star for your eyes."
"Don't cry; dream with me, it's more secure."