.....

This time it is real, I am afraid.

This time there will be no hiding.

That unique sparkle she has in her eyes— the one that drives me crazy and the same one that keeps me sane— answers so many questions that I have had all my life. She speaks as if every word was carefully chosen - just for me. Her words are elaborate and beautiful. Mine are short and stammered. Ours are perfect.

During the nights when slumber eludes us and fantasies are tickled among our soft breath, the world becomes ours. The dreams wandering our labyrinthine cerebrum are released to fill the air with their hushed voices—mingling their whispers among the midnight breeze, caressing our souls. I feel as if the constraints of practicality have released us as we breathe the air, feel the snow capped mountains, smell the fresh sweetness of trees and taste the waters from the redeemed oceans.

Then it seems like we are the only pulsating creatures in a dead world of ice. The most alive. The most real.


-omi