Sometimes, just sometimes, she feels like a fever dream. She comes to me deep in the night, at times when I am the most lonely. It seems that she knows my truest of desires. If I were asked what could be that my heart deems worthy of labelling as a true desire, I would have to say I never wanted anything more than a kind and warm touch of fingers running through my hair and putting me to sleep.
It has been long since I had forgotten the sensation, how it actually felt ages ago. But now I remember. As I pawn my heart to the goddess of slumber, in exchange, I am drowned in similar tranquility. I have a hard time believing to be able to feel it again, to remember how I felt it before sleeping in the morning when I wake up.
I had met her in my dreams for the first time. My subconscious had produced a vivid scene from my early childhood. In it, I ran through a paddy of rice, bare feet, hands spread towards the farsides of the horizon while facing a dying sun. Cold winds swept over the lands, and rice leaves danced uncontrollably in its wake.
As my feet disturbed the stagnant mud of the aisle in between rice fields, a prehistoric smell of wet soil drowned me in euphoria. In anticipation of forgotten freedom, my feet moved ever quicker, balancing perfectly over such a narrow path. It's a familiar nostalgic memory disrupted by a subtle change in details.
I spotted her in the corner of my left eye, standing in the middle of a field ever so elegantly in her colorful gown. All startled by a stranger, my feet on their own stopped on the edge of the aisle. It took an immense effort to find my ground and not fall face flat on the dirt.
My glance didn't shy away from curiously looking at her, as I partly blamed her for making me slip. From afar, I could see her lips twitch in an affirmative wave as if she understood from my glance what I intended to say. The waves slowly formed a smile. Her eyes sparkled from the golden rays falling from the heavens while her hair revolted not to keep the shape in the foul wind. And it mesmerized me. Later on, as I kept remembering the dream, it engraved its place in my brain as a false memory.
Our next meeting originated from a fever-induced hallucination. Hot and humid summer didn't help with my cold shivers, and the fever had mercilessly taken my sleep away. Laying in bed, while the grey matter in my temple submerged in profoundly stupid thoughts of how I singlehandedly could solve world hunger, I heard the door to my room open. Turning my head quickly made me feel dizzy, and it multiplied by a magnitude when I saw her enter my room, as the same distinctly recognizable smile was painted on her face.
I started reciting prayers to the almighty to save me from this beautiful looking djinn. Afterwards, I rubbed my eyes, and when I looked again, the door was shut like before, but she was still there, wearing that polka-dotted, lively, colorful gown.
These days, I see her all around me, keeping me wrapped in an ecstasy filled romance. Late at night, her fingers follow the veins on my forehead, and I find solace in deep slumber. Funny how if I say I saw her in my dreams, she will think I have fallen ill, or madness has taken me away from her. But that will not make it untrue now. Goddess of slumber, Tippi toes around me, at times embraces me lovingly is my reality now. A fever-induced dream too good to be true, from which, I never want to wake up.
If I had a box just for wishes...
And dreams that had never come true....
The box would be empty...
Except for the memory of how they were answered by you....