A familiar feeling haunts me tonight. Restlessness comes close, but not quite; sadness doesn't nail it on the head; not depression, yet my soul feels subdued. I feel immobilized, paralyzed, capable only of sitting in a daze and thinking of you. All of a sudden, I am a vulnerable being again - I could cry at a trigger, and my neediness surfaces. I know what I should be doing, but for this frozen moment, I couldn't care less.

I miss you.

Confessions of a Pessimist.

Being in love is scary.

It's scary from the very start, when you realize that you've accidentally, unwittingly put your heart into the hands of another - who might not even know it. You try to take it back, you try to deny it, and you try to rationalize with yourself. You become well-acquainted with depression and hopelessness, caught between acting upon your desires and doing what is 'wiser'. You wish, you hope, you get mad at yourself for desiring something you shouldn't be wanting. The very reason you never desired anything so passionately was so that you could avoid this feeling altogether. What have all your efforts amounted to? Nothing. You despair at how helpless you are, you rage within because your pride has been taken down a peg. But you still hope.

Then he responds, and you feel a mixture of happiness and doubt. Happy that it's mutual, afraid that so many things can go wrong. Suddenly, you're overwhelmed by the fear of bumping into those hands, scared that you might knock your heart right out of them, onto the ground where it would shatter and break into an irretrievable million pieces. At the same time, your heart feels like bursting for joy. All these extremities of emotion are explored, and you wonder if your heart can take the emotional stretching. It doesn't seem possible, and the tightness in your chest leaves you gasping for breath at times. Every single word he says is filed up in your suddenly phenomenal memory, every single line analyzed for underlying meanings. Everything he does is magical. It's so wonderful, beautiful, that you're afraid it's too good to be true.

Things can only get worse, because they can't get any better, right?

What happens when the quarrels start, when the disillusionment sets in? What happens when feelings die down, or the magic wears off? What happens then?

What happens when people start telling you that long-distance relationships don't work 90% of the time? Do you keep hanging on to that fragile thread of hope, or do you take the side of realism as a defense mechanism? What happens when you realize that 9 years is a long time - a long, long, long time? What happens then?

These fears are not unfounded. These fears are real. These fears are valid. These fears are part of the deal.

But life doesn't happen all at once. It doesn't settle or confirm all your fears in one day, or even in a year. It takes a lifetime to be certain, and even then, you can't be 100% sure. It's kind and cruel at the same time. Kind, because you realize in stages that quarrels don't lead to immediate breakups, that the initial romance will - for all your idealism - eventually stabilize into a comforting, warm current of confidence that your relationship is stronger than that. Cruel, because part of your doubts and questions cannot be answered until the time comes. And you still run the risk of being hurt.

Perfect love casts out all fear. But imperfect mortals have their limits.

Open your eyes

So vivid the memory
I can still see into your eyes

So sweet the scent
The smell of you lingers

So soft the touch
Your fingertips glide and I shiver

So powerful the emotions
I can still feel you tremble

So loud the silence
The empty spaces between my fingers mourn in desolation

So far you are
Your secret smile blazes across my mind

Colours return (Part 2)

"Asheroth."

Familiar voice.

"Asheroth."

The voice came again.

"Asheroth."

Firmer. But who's Asheroth anyway?

The throbbing in my temples somewhat subsided, and I risked opening eyes, only to regret doing so. The surroundings were a still bit too bright and my headache returned. I closed my eyes again, groaning. The unknown person gave an audible sigh of relief.

"Who are you?" I asked the stranger, and strangely I didn't feel that he was an intruder nor had any ill intentions. Yet, I asked, "What are you doing in my house?"

"Good, you're back," came the reply.

Then I heard a small "whoosh" and felt a weird breeze.

"Hey, who are you?" I asked again. I wasn't sure why I wanted to know who that stranger was, and why I didn't feel threatened. And I felt really confused. What happened to me? Who was that unidentified man?

I gently opened my eyes and tried to ignore the brightness.

Nobody.

"Where did he go?" I wondered aloud.

What happened? I was suddenly alarmed that I can't remember anything before the time I heard that stranger calling out for someone with a strange name. Asheroth? I observed my surroundings. Yes, this IS my house. I've lived here for 19 years. Yet, I had this odd feeling that I couldn't put into words.

It was like waking up from a really long sleep, from a really bad dream that felt so long to the extent you can't remember reality.

Who am I?

I got up and I realized I was wearing weird clothes. Clothes which I don't remember owning or purchasing. And someone was playing my piano, because the fallboard was up.

What is going on?

Contented

He cleared his throat, and she looked up at him. A soft smile was still on her face, that lovey-dovey expression he liked to tease her about, but one he secretly couldn't live without.

"I love you."

She smiled even wider. Then her lips twisted into crooked line.

"Heyyyyyyyy, what's wrong?"

He felt her arms loosen around his neck, and promptly loosened his hug as well. She lowered her gaze for a second, and looked back at him.

"Do you feel that you're missing out on other people? 'Cause we're so young, and we've never dated others..."

He wrinkled his brow in thought. Shrugged.

"Maybe. I don't know. Does it bother you?"

She smiled wistfully.

"It doesn't really bother me, but my friends think I should try out other people while I'm still young. Play the field. Flirt. Parrrtay. The works," She playfully winked.

He chuckled. "Rawr. Do you want to?"

"Of course. What do you think?" She coyly asked. Then she pursed up her lips and stopped smiling.

"Seriously though, do you think it's wise to be so...committed to each other? What if we are limiting our options? After all, you've never dated anyone else, and I've never either - there might be others better for us out there."

"You mean, is this healthy?" He paused.

"Something like that."

"I don't know, but you're the best I ever had. Or will ever have, I suppose. And I don't feel deprived, not with the way you kiss me," His eyes twinkled.

"Correction : I'm the ONLY one you've ever had. How can you even TELL if I'm the best if you've no one else to compare me to?"

"Awww you missed the whole 'kissing' point."

She playfully swatted his shoulder.

He looked into her eyes, smiled and said, "I don't want to find out that you were the best after I lost you. That'd just suck, wouldn't it?"

"Smart answer." She grinned contentedly, and snuggled back into his arms.

Colours return (Part 1)

The black of the night sky hides the bashful twinkling stars. I allow my brown irises to relax, enlarging my pupils - as black as the velvet blanket of the night sky.

With a mutter of a simple spell, I teleport myself to my intended destination. Gray and startled, the owl flutters away, hooting its displeasure.

"Nice spot, Asheroth," commented BenGarth as he too popped out of oblivion to perch beside me on the brown branch of the tallest tree on the green hill.

"Why on a tree?" BenGarth asked again.

I shrugged, uninterested in answering his question. He put his arms around my shoulder, and teleported us to an unfamiliar room. White walls, large windows, glass door. And I took notice of a black and roughly rectangular object. It was as tall as my height, an arms' length deep, and two arms' length wide. The front had a projection, as if a box was attached to the main body. And at the bottom, there were three brass protrutions which seemed like pedals.

BenGarth smiled, pulled a nearby bench, black like the unknown object. He sat down and gestured for me to come near. I stepped closer, and watched him lift cover off the box-projection, revealing a bright red silk cloth below. And he removed the red cloth, further revealing a great number of straight, small...

"Keys," BenGarth told me. "These things are called keys. You press on them."

Yes. Great number of keys. Black and white. Alternating with a certain pattern.

"What is this?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

Without answering my query, he began to press on the keys, several at once with both hands. And a chord of the most beautiful sounding notes flooded my ears.

Oh, it's a musical instrument? I realized silently as BenGarth continued to play. And with every bit of dynamism he displayed through his skillful manipulation of the black-white keys, I felt my body sway. A strange stirring began in my heart, and I felt my heart thumping faster faster and faster. I began to sweat. I gulped as I began to feel hot. My fingers mirrored the vibrations of the instrument. Every note, chord. Overwhelming.

Overwhelmingly familiar.

BenGarth's playing gained volume. As he crescendoed, I developed a headache. I clutched my head, and tried to cover my ears.

"Cease this music!" I demanded. My cry was ignored; BenGarth was reaching the climax of his song and pressed on. I stumbled away from my friend and clumsily knocked over a chair. I collapsed to the floor, the headache rising with the wave of notes BenGarth was drumming out. I was in torment, and I began to scream in agony. Yet, the music droned on until the pain was finally too much to bear. My vision became brighter and brighter as a blinding spot of light appeared before my eyes.

I passed out.

Beautiful Nightmare

"Oh!" came her short exclamation.

I just smiled.

She let me into her house.

"Oh my. What a surprise," she commented, half fumbling with the door. She began to clear her things of the table and chairs, trying to make her den look neater and presentable to her guest.

"What are you doing here?" she asked a few moments later, bringing two reasonably large mugs of water. She sipped from one nervously as she slowly sat down opposite me.

I shrugged, and looked at her sheepishly. She blushed noticably. She cleared her throat.


And we just sat there. Quiet. Still.

"Say... uhm..." I awkwardly tried to start a conversation.

"Yeah?" she instantly replied, eager to break the tension. She played with her hair, probably a sign of nervousness.

"Did a man ever tell you that you're beautiful?" I said calmly. Clearly, she was somewhat taken aback at my question, and I could tell she was starting to feel uncomfortable. Before she could answer, I leaned closer to her, and looked her in her eyes.

"You are beautiful. Your narrow eyes, your odd puffy nose, your full lips. The curve of your waist and hips. I like the way you are always spontaneous, and I really like how you laugh at my witty remarks."

She gulped. I held her hand.

"I..." she began to speak.

And I kissed her lips. Next thing we knew, we were making love in her bed. I dozed off gazing at her fair face whilst stroking her long red hair.

A gentle kiss on my cheek woke me up. The room was dimly lit by a candle. It was raining slightly outside.

"Good morning darling," I greeted her.

She smiled, but almost instantly her smiled vanished.

"What's wrong?" I asked gently.

"This. Us." Guilt was written all over her face.

She bit her lower lip. She pulled the blanket away from me, and covered her naked body.

"Please get dressed. And leave," she said coldly without even looking at me.


***


I woke up. What a dream. Maybe this is what they mean by a Beautiful Nightmare.