The girl with the white top
Out of the hundred different times she came and thousand other times I forgot the way she came to meet me, hiding from the eyes; in a world of our own. A world which is obscured from scrutiny and fenced by thoughts, she came over to meet me in my dreams.
Each time she came, she left a mark, a mark hard to erase. A mark that urged my desperation past the fence to see the flourishing beauty through my eyes; walking, smiling and then getting embarrassed realizing that I was looking.
I don't know where we were, or what scheme leads us to that place but the one thing I can concrete is that those moments seem unreal, even for an illusion, even for a dream.
I was lying on the edge of the bed trying to catch a nap in vain. And a few other faceless chaps were snoring loudly behind by turned back. And that's when she entered the room wearing the same white top which she always did when she came to meet me in this world. She saw, she smiled and quietly sat on the floor beside m