She dreamt she saw me though I was faceless. But she knew it was me.

"I had a strange dream," she said.

"Yeah," I replied.

"I dreamt that you were my lover and you were also my husband," she said again.

We were lying on the bed facing the window, our legs resting on the grill. The sky was full of fluffy white clouds. The bed was large and comfortable - soft and cool and topped with a fine cream bedsheet. She ran her hand across the fabric, feeling it. She was not smiling anymore. She looked uncertain, frowning, peeking glances at me. Something wasn't right. She turned to look at me, and her eyes were lucid clear. She was looking out at the world. Looking at me. Her round eyes of blackness.

"It is a dream, my lao po," I told her, "I am not your husband. And I am also not your lover." I held her cold hands tight in mine to stop her crying.

She then said, "Yes, you are right. But dreams are meant for dreaming. Dreams are meant for desires.

We can hitch a ride to the stars
pretending to love
without
the problems and the consequences of love
till the morning comes down
to break our hearts
and we will then say goodbye
with a smile."

She nodded. I covered her with the blanket and she curled up like a baby. I laid down beside her, patted her, and sang her a song that had no words, until eventually, she went soft and deep into a quiet quiet sleep.

I then saw myself floating backwards, floating away from her.


The clouds pasted on the sky had turned dark.