I am never going to see her again
The leaves wither and fall. The sun fades. The snow melts and turns into annoying, slippery, icy patches. Winter turns into spring. And I am revisited by the same dream. The haze of colours, unknown people. A house I have never seen before, but I know for sure that I have been there, even lived there. The same staircase, the high ceiling, the painting by the landing. The mosaic stone floor, the french windows, those faceless people. Mere bodies, shuffling. What are their names? So many images. Crowded streets, umbrellas, traffic noises. The house. A feeling that this was somebody's home once. And yet again, one sinking feeling keeps coming back to me. Every time I make yet another new acquaintance, every time I discover yet another face to politely smile at. I remember. That one person who I would rather see than any one else in the world. My dreams are not haunted. They are invaded by unwanted feelings and images, unknown and foreign to me, yet achingly familiar. Through all