A Vision or A Waking Dream.

   It was a dark and rainy day. The clouds were summoned in the skies, forming all kinds of mythical and fantastical creatures. It was that type of cold weather that feels so delicate yet sharp on the skin and it would plant this desire in you of wishing to take off your clothes and sense the crisp, refreshing air.

   The man was walking. It shouldn't be long until he reached his destination. Thoughts were whirling around his mind, tormenting him, upsetting him in a way that was neither pleasant or not. He was full of anticipation, impatience, fear. He felt as if trillions of butterflies were flying inside him, as if the rain were pouring down upon his heart; washing his comfort away, calling to the deepest corners of his self.

   She will be there. That was all he could think of; her being there, waiting for him, hoping that she'd occasionally be catching a few glimpses from the window to see if he's in sight. No, he silently exclaimed, she won't. But still, he had all the right in the world to shape his dreams according to his liking.

   After a while, he saw it. This manor house, that looked like a mansion in the Scottish countryside, was magnificently standing in front of him, an ornament and treasure to the eyes. It was surrounded by myriads of trees and its walls were covered with ivy and otherwordly flowers. This place in its entirety gave him the feeling as if he was walking on ancient grounds, filled with history and forgotten lore. And behind those walls, the damsel in distress awaiting to be rescued. The sole difference in this situation was that the roles were reversed and that he was the one in need of salvation; he was the one in distress.

   Inhaling deeply, he approached the gates. They were old, rusty and he had to put a certain amount of effort to open them. The irony, he thought, rusty and under constant effort just like his soul. He turned his eyes towards the windows and he saw her staring at him. He smiled, she was like a vision, a product of the most perfected fantasy. Her body remained motionless but her head which she moved in an inviting way, silently giving him the permission to come inside and meet her.

  A small flame of hoping was burning inside of him. All seemed well but all didn't feel well. He consciously decided to fool himself into believing that she'd be waiting for him behind those walls with a smile carven on her beautiful face, ready to accept her fate and be with him.

   The doors open and there she was. Dressed in a long gown, a flowery garland on her head. The colour burgundy never looked so lovely, and flowers never smelled so heavenly. Imagine what her skin smells like, he said to himself, as if Spring and Autumn were bound by holy matrimony; a mixture of blooms and rain.

   She was standing by a windowsill, her right hand resting on it and the other touching her left thigh. Her hair was falling on her shoulders, cascading upon her breasts and finding its ending on the bottom of her stomach. She looked like a nymph, like a Waterhouse or Rossetti painting only lovelier in sight and more exquisite in detail. And the best part was that she was real. Standing few feet away from him, her light-coloured eyes looking at his, her body exuding archetypal beauty, insightful wisdom.

   He started walking towards her, one step at a time, slowly, patiently. He wanted to realize that she was there for real, devour every part of her, capture her fairness, her mesmerizing charm. The closer he got, the more fear was growing in her glance. What was she afraid of? All he wished was to honour and worship her unlike any goddess in the history of mankind was ever worshipped. He paused and gazed at her. After a few moments, he reached out his hand towards her but she stepped back.

   "Why?"

   "Because my heart does not contain the feelings yours does."

   "It can, though. If you want to."

   "I don't."

   "Then why did you invite me here?"

   "I didn't."

   "But I am here; in a place I never knew existed knowing that you would be waiting for me."

   "I am never waiting for you. You just want to believe so."

   His eyes looked aghast, struck by a sudden sorrow which came to him like snow in the summer.

   "You never clearly stated that you weren't waiting for me."

   She lowered her eyes, feeling uncomfortable with sense of guilt burning.

   "You never told me you would never be waiting for me. You never said to me that I could never be present in your future."

   "I am aware of that."

   "Why? Why didn't you come clear?"

   "Because I still feel unclear. Regarding you."

   "What does this mean?"

   "It means I am not sure about how I feel. You bewitch me in a peculiar, inexplicable way and this frightens me. Sometimes I feel like your life depends on me and I feel uneasy."

   "Nothing that belongs to me depends on you. Is it so terrifying that I love you?"

   "I can't trust you. My life is full of responsibilities, I cannot just add more anxiety to it."

   "Am I such a burden to you?"

   "Getting to know you is a hard task. We are worlds apart, literally, and I cannot just give us a chance and risk everything."

   "Love is not a safe ground, you know. You have to throw your whole self into it and go wherever it takes you. You cannot reject me without knowing me."

   "I can reject you because I want to."

   "Don't do this. I'm begging you."

   "You begging means nothing to me because you mean nothing to me."

   He froze unable to believe he truly listened to such cruel words.

   "You are nothing to me. Leave."

   "But you invited me here."

   "Leave. You're invading my privace, my life, my being. Leave."

   "Your words are knives and you're stabbing me with such brutal ease."

   He took a step towards her and grabbed her by her arms.

   "Leave me! Get your hands off me!"

   "Stop moving. Listen to me, Listen!"

   She couldn't stand still, all she could do was move as wildly as she could in order to escape his arms.

   "Stop. Moving."

   She eventually did. Her hair was all over her face, she was panting and her lips were slightly parted. Her cheeks were rosy due to the struggle and her eyes aglow. She was stunningly gorgeous. Standing there, all torn, vulnerable and emotionally charged. She looked like the sea on a windy day, ruffled, intimidatng, delicate, in distress. All she needed was for the winds to cease blowing. For this storm to pass. He could help her restore the serenity in her soul, he could help her plant the seed of love in her heart. He could help that seed grow by watering her with love just like water lovingly gives life to the flowers.

   He wanted to kiss her with such passion and fire, he wanted to scar her existence just like she had scarred him. Her lips were still parted, her mouth was exuding a painful need for redemption.

   And thus, he kissed her. And she did not move away from him. In face, she responded to his kiss in the same amount of ardent emotion. Her kiss was like a confession long overdue, like a realization, an absolution.

   Then, she suddenly stopped and pushed him back with fury. 

   "What? Why?"

   Her eyes were dark, overflowing with rage, hatred, emptiness. She was looking at him as if he had murdered her soul, her glance was fraught with a sense of impending doom.

   All of a sudden, darkness fell and she disappeared. He turned to look for her but all he found was the empty aloneness of his bedroom.

   The house was his bed and she was the sheets that were tightly wrapped around his body.

   He remained still, looking at the ceiling with eyes blurred.

   His fingers were touching the matress as if he were touching a strand of her hair.

   His heartbeat was fast, his breathing ragged.

   This is all I have, he said to himself, my dreams.

   At least, those were his.

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