The Dream

Awake. Slow Breathing. Blurred Images. White Images. Fuzzy Outlines. Dark Hair coming down on a White Face. White Face. Beautiful Face.

Awake again.

He looked at her and smiled weakly as the white light from the window behind her filtered through her hair and lit his faces in patches. A deep smile, yet weak. A face that is unable to express the jubilation of his heart because it had forgotten to. Because this cannot be real. And yet he turned slowly towards the beautiful figure sitting at the edge of the bed with her arms around the headrest as if creating a protection that no one and nothing can break. Her smile permeated through his flesh to touch his soul and comfort it. She brought her tender hands to his head and ran her fingers through his hair ever so gently. In each gentle stroke, she was picking out all those weights that had disturbed the balance of his mind for so long. She was undoing everything. Everything. And yet her face continued to emanate the white light and cleanse him. He moved his head forwards, coiling his body and putting his head in her lap. She continued stroking his hair while her other arm rested on his shoulder, rubbing gently. He brought himself closer and wrapping his hands tightly around her waist, he wept. He wept like a baby.