Dreamscape

Dreamscape

As I fleeted across crowds of alien faces, I felt a tap on my shoulder – as short as a hello, yet gentle and affectionate like a greeting of love (or maybe even with undertones of coquetry). I turned around to see a smile I had wished to catch another glimpse of since the last time I had had a chance to do so, which, sadly, was a long time ago. Overflowing with beatific gusto, I hugged her as she hugged me back, and I let myself absorb the plenitude of positive energy her body seemed to be radiating. Oh, I missed the smell of her hair!

“You forgot my name again, didn’t you?”

Indeed. Ashamed, I gazed apologetically into her playful eyes. She seemed to understand.

“It’s okay. It’s just a dream.”

She hugged me again. As I let myself to the mercy of my dream-girl, I realized that in the few dreams I’d been lucky enough to have bumped into her, never once had I kissed her – and that she was the one, was as certain as the sun, the moon and the cosmos itself.

I quaffed down a tumblerful of her eyes, as she gazed into mine with the same ardour. When both of us could resist no more, we moved closer and kissed, although after just a brief play of the lips, she gently pushed me back, the sacred knot between our eyes though still very much in the pink of its marriage.

“I have to go. My friends are waiting.”

She pointed to the ocean, the sky, and the shades of orange in between. I begged her to stay and continue the spark we seemed to share. She seemed torn between her desire to be with me and her obligation to return where she had come from, for she parted with a sense of awkward urgency that one attributes to such conflicts of the mind. She let go of my hand eventually and mouthed a goodbye.

I stood there, watching her go. Unable to move, I felt limbless with disappointment. The pride I reserved for my own existence imploded and what was left was nothing but a minuscule speckle of shame and failure at having been unable to make her fall in love with me. But deep down, somewhere within the debris of my shattered self, I knew that she loved me too. But what good was that knowledge, for there she was, leaving, showing signs of never returning? Would I have to wait for another six months till she came around again?

As I felt myself drown in hopeless despair, I saw her stop midway. Yes!, I thought. After a moment of hesitation, she turned around. From where she stood, she looked at me with a smile that shook me out of my coma. Beaming with joy with a child-like fervour, yet anxious at the same time, I waited for her to decide whether turning around was an epilogue to our brief interaction or a prologue to better and longer chapters.

As I waited for her to put an end to my restlessness, something unexpected happened – my alarm rang. With the heaviness of an incomplete memory of an incomplete dream, I woke up disheartened. Maybe it’s in my fate to wait some more for another one of our biannual meetings to take place. Reveling in the scattered remains of my recollection of the transitory meeting I had with one of the most beautiful women I’ve been fortunate enough of running into several times within the realms of my unconscious, I wonder how it always happens that I never manage to remember her name.