Ambiguous

It is 3:35 AM.

Wriggling alone, waiting for nothing in the empty white room. Silence. No one else awake.

I found me. In the midst of watching the shadows, I found myself staring at my hands. These hands once held hope for the future unbroken, had scribbled lots of words inspired by the whimsical mind. Now, they are reduced to the things that help me to drag myself forward against the floor.

I dreamed. Of rivers and the gurgle of the brook. Waves washing against the banks lined with perfectly round rocks. Of the sky so blue and adorned with fluffy white clouds. Of a lone tree not far from the curve of the river, offering shade to those who are weary.

All these good-nights, all these goodbyes, all these smiles. Why am I slowly growing tired of watching them?

A puddle of water at the roadside. A petrol rainbow reflected back an image of myself, muddied and twisted into something I can't recognize at the beginning. I am walking against the flow of cars, just for the heck of it. I don't have any clue where I am going. With the wind at my back, I continue going past many unknown faces in the evening.

I slept, feeling the soothing caress of the soft mattress. An umbrella appeared as soon as I closed my eyes, and underneath it stood a woman in red sundress, with hair tied up in a bunch while letting the bangs fall against her forehead and cheeks.

There you are, her smile said, I thought I'd never see you again.

Muted by the many words that hung at the tip of my tongue, I felt the heaviness of a guilty person settling down in my chest.

No. After all this time. Why am I getting back to where it all began, once again?

A hazy night sky. A huge wisteria tree above us both. Aren't you feeling cold, woman in red? With such thin dress in this night?

Not at all. I am glad that we are finally talking.

Imagining things. I don't know which is past and which is present. Future is too complicated, and I perceive it as something that is eternally out of my reach. There will always be tomorrow, and when tomorrow comes, another tomorrow will replace it.

I hear things that was said to me. Phrases that praised me. Insults that hurt me. Stories that tear me up. Ugliness of a being that refused to look at himself in the mirror. Picking up the foreign magazines to imitate the hair of the people whose lives are not real.

I should be asleep, but the woman in red is still there. I cannot simply forget that she is there. I should be sleeping in this dream of mine.

The warmth of another person. The relief that comes when you realize that you are not alone. The comfort of knowing that someone else is there for you.

Where are they now?

Leaning on my right elbow, on the cold metallic rail that keeps us from the grass. I watch as the woman in red sweeps the strands of hair to the left side of her face. I mimicked the action but I sweep mine to the right, instead.

Measuring the sizes of our hands. Hers is small and fragile, almost child-like. Mine is larger, and fingers crooked. Years of writing has made the right middle finger slightly slanted.

I look down and feel the weight of the hood of my gray windbreaker on my neck. The bangs that I let grew fell and obscure my vision. I don't tie my hair this time, I let them free. The faint fragrance of the shampoo I used earlier is still there.

You found me. I saw you, that's why.
I did. I saw you, too.

For now, let's just stay like this.
Okay.

I didn't wish for it, but you still are here.
It is a non-voluntary dream. I don't have absolute control here.

Do you recognize this place? It is somewhere that you want to be at. The picture of your desktop background.
I know.

Still wishing for the exchange of reality and dream?
I still am. It's a crazy world out there. 

Another depressing day?
Not really. Doing nothing tend to do that.

You wish that you are not real.
Probably I am. Being real subjects you to the rules, and it pressures you into someone you do not want to be.

Another red balloon, slowly deflating and still stuck on the ceiling. The world in here is raining, and I know exactly why it is raining. Time run fast, and an hour has passed before I know it.

It is fine. I am still alive. Through tears and happiness, I know that I am real. I am not just someone born out of desire. I am someone else that is still lost and not wanting to get out of the comfort zone, like any typical spoiled child.

I hear you just fine, there's no need to raise your voice.
I know you are not angry, but I insist.
Let me find me again.
And after that, maybe I am able to forget you.
Forget in a sense that I can finally see you as a non-sexual object, like a lamp-post or a book.
Be quiet, I am enjoying my semi-sleeping state.
Someone is singing, his voice reaching out from these laptop speakers.
The audio jack is broken, so I can't confine him in the large headphones with three-meter long cord.

I am dreaming, but at the same time, I am awake.