I have a dream. It's always the same dream, it starts as soon as I close my eyes and my mind drifts to sleep.
In my dream, I walk in forest. A dark forest, and I'm surrounded by black trees that don't allow the moonlight to seep through their higher branches and leaves. I walk, and walk. I don't know where I'm going, so I just keep walking, brushing my fingertips against the bark of the trees I pass by. They tell me stories, they're sad. They feel alone, no one keeps them company anymore. So, if they find someone lost, if someone stops in their territory, the don't let go of them. I keep walking, comforting the tall figures around me with a soft caress. It's all I can do as I keep walking.
In my dream, I reach a big structure. A structure of what once was a magnificent house, burnt until only black iron and rotten wood were left. There is no one, no one survived. The house burnt long ago, but I can almost smell the fire, the fear of the ones who once lived and perished inside. As I take hesitant steps forward, I can see what's left of the walls, and as I reach out to softly push the part of the door that it's still there, it crumbles beneath my hand.
I enter the house. I look around and am greeted by only one room, big enough to fit a small crowd. Ah, the parties that were held there. At my left, I see blackened structures of bookshelves and piles of wet ashes where books should have been. Structures only held by climbing plants growing between them that refuse to let them fall. A pot that once contained a plant that brightened the room was still there, unbroken. When I look at my right, I see a window, or at least what was left of it... And a sofa. And I can picture a family, happily gathered around the television, just... Living the lives they were content with.
In front of me, across the room, there is something I can only describe as a stage. On a corner it stays a desk, once crowded with papers and books, with crystal flasks, with quills. Now, only a book can be seen between the pile of dust, one book that survived the tragedy. But there's something else. A piano. Proudly standing in the middle of the stage, as if time couldn't harm it. But it had, of course.
And, sitting at the piano, and playing it softly, there's a woman. A pale, thin woman. A woman, wearing a cream coloured dress that might have been white, once. Her black hairs cascades down her back, almost reaching the floor. I'm frozen, I can't move. She doesn't acknowledge my presence, she doesn't look at me. She keeps pressing those black keys I didn't think would be able to draw such a melancholic sound from the instrument that should have crumbled centuries ago. And she sings. In a quiet, cracked voice, she sings.
And I can see how broken she is. I can see her desperation, I can see how she cries, and I can see the raindrops that start falling from the sky, from the trees that protect her and her sorrow. And it's almost as if she was alive, because said raindrops fall on her cheeks, they wipe her tears away.
She stands, water dripping from her hair. She makes her way towards me with those dark orbs looking into my soul. She kneels in front of me, her hands digging into the ground in search of something that's not there anymore. And as soon as realization hits her, she grips my ankles to make me stay, to help her get rid of that loneliness that won't let her be free.
And I agree.
I will stay with her forever.
In my dream, I walk in forest. A dark forest, and I'm surrounded by black trees that don't allow the moonlight to seep through their higher branches and leaves. I walk, and walk. I don't know where I'm going, so I just keep walking, brushing my fingertips against the bark of the trees I pass by. They tell me stories, they're sad. They feel alone, no one keeps them company anymore. So, if they find someone lost, if someone stops in their territory, the don't let go of them. I keep walking, comforting the tall figures around me with a soft caress. It's all I can do as I keep walking.
In my dream, I reach a big structure. A structure of what once was a magnificent house, burnt until only black iron and rotten wood were left. There is no one, no one survived. The house burnt long ago, but I can almost smell the fire, the fear of the ones who once lived and perished inside. As I take hesitant steps forward, I can see what's left of the walls, and as I reach out to softly push the part of the door that it's still there, it crumbles beneath my hand.
I enter the house. I look around and am greeted by only one room, big enough to fit a small crowd. Ah, the parties that were held there. At my left, I see blackened structures of bookshelves and piles of wet ashes where books should have been. Structures only held by climbing plants growing between them that refuse to let them fall. A pot that once contained a plant that brightened the room was still there, unbroken. When I look at my right, I see a window, or at least what was left of it... And a sofa. And I can picture a family, happily gathered around the television, just... Living the lives they were content with.
In front of me, across the room, there is something I can only describe as a stage. On a corner it stays a desk, once crowded with papers and books, with crystal flasks, with quills. Now, only a book can be seen between the pile of dust, one book that survived the tragedy. But there's something else. A piano. Proudly standing in the middle of the stage, as if time couldn't harm it. But it had, of course.
And, sitting at the piano, and playing it softly, there's a woman. A pale, thin woman. A woman, wearing a cream coloured dress that might have been white, once. Her black hairs cascades down her back, almost reaching the floor. I'm frozen, I can't move. She doesn't acknowledge my presence, she doesn't look at me. She keeps pressing those black keys I didn't think would be able to draw such a melancholic sound from the instrument that should have crumbled centuries ago. And she sings. In a quiet, cracked voice, she sings.
Drink up sweet decadence... I can't say no to you. And I've completely lost myself and I don't mind, I can't say no to you...She sings, and I know who she is. I know she can't leave, I know she'll be chained to that place long after nothing's left. And I listen to her, because she's beautiful, because the sound of her voice is something I want to hear until I die, until I vanish from this place. And as her voice grows higher, louder, I can see the fire. I can understand that she'll revive the fire that took away all she loved until the end of time. The fire grows, the fire takes it all away for the upteenth time since she died. The fire's rage grows as her voice does.
And I can see how broken she is. I can see her desperation, I can see how she cries, and I can see the raindrops that start falling from the sky, from the trees that protect her and her sorrow. And it's almost as if she was alive, because said raindrops fall on her cheeks, they wipe her tears away.
She stands, water dripping from her hair. She makes her way towards me with those dark orbs looking into my soul. She kneels in front of me, her hands digging into the ground in search of something that's not there anymore. And as soon as realization hits her, she grips my ankles to make me stay, to help her get rid of that loneliness that won't let her be free.
And I agree.
I will stay with her forever.
