Sometimes… it hurts. Hurts like a burning coal on the open wound.

How my dreams always drift in the same way, towards the same entity… The mere thought that I could dream about her, hurts… But she always appears, shrouded in fluttering gowns, glistening, marvelous…

And ruthless. I sense that mark on her… that… scar, which harms my senses and my soul.

When she comes in red, she is like a breath of summer, like a night dance among the woods, like a gossamer of memories.

And she leads me through the mists, towards trees, towards the blooming flowers, which if touched with one finger, most delicately, would disappear in flurry of petals, carried by the wind.

Sometimes she comes to me, dressed in blue. And then clouds fall down from the sky and the rich azure stings with sun rays like it was torn from the hands of gods.

And then we travel behind the rainbow, towards the sun and beyond, towards the fallen stars and endless vastness, among colors touched by forbidden magic…

I want her to come to me once more… dressed in green. Her voice like a dew in a cold morning, droplets of rain slowly patting on the windowpane, the patter of tears on the glass.

I would want to go with her to the lands that have never seen the human being, and the thick emeralds lay upon the feet, laughing pearly.

But sometimes… sometimes she comes dressed in black. And then…

… I am afraid to open my eyes, to not see how my dreams are dispelled mercilessly in the last ray of the dying star…