White.

Guest post by an anonymous friend.

Met her again yesterday; our meetings have become quite frequent in the last six months. Unlike most of 2010 and 2011 when she used to remember me hardly once or twice in several months, and that too without remorse of any sort.

She was wearing white, and wore the same pearl necklace that I had gifted her. She looked beautiful. But then, she always did. She seemed to me to be serene. Happy, rather.  But unlike the previous meetings, I did most of the talking. She didn’t have the answers to most of my questions, though. When I asked her how she had been, all she did was smile reluctantly and then look away.

The ambience swirled and suddenly we found ourselves on the roof from where one could see the full moon, shining bright. Not unlike her eyes often did when she was pleased about something. But something was wrong with the moon too; it shined reluctantly just like she smiled half-heartedly.
Something tells me that this was last time we met; the touch of her skin didn’t feel the same and the twinkle in her eye had disappeared.

When I woke up, it didn’t feel right.  It felt incomplete. Does this mean that she will never come in my dreams again? That smile. That cautious smile has induced a perpetual aura of discomfort around me. All I have left of her is how I felt during the dream, it’s beautiful. That feeling is pure, like the white she wore. I'd like to hold on to it - they say masochism knows no bounds.


'Why is it so important to dream?' 'In my dreams, we are still together.' - Inception.