… suddenly, reality became a place too small for all the things that she wished she could describe. words became too constricted – speech was useless, as well was rhetoric, oratory (urinals, they were). reality had too many limits, boundaries, restraining the spaces necessary for her love to grow. so, imagination was perfect then, for no one could explain dreams; for that frayed edge where her reality ended was a territory uncharted for everyone else but her. ‘what a pretty Slavic nose he has’, she whispered, lost in the most wonderful of daydreams – lost in though, inside her mind, seeing with eyes no tears could ever blur. ‘I wonder what everyone’s thinking’, she pondered, groaning at all the noise from the office that interrupted her colourful perceptions. reality fought to reach surface, but dreaming seeped into the world, drop by drop. it poured. and with a child-like freedom she touched, with unsteady fingers, the outlines of those in-between places she never before dared to see. it wasn’t long before night fell somewhere in the east. the sky was coloured by a hurtful memory and she woke up, finally able to fall (truly) asleep. she faced another night. in her mind she searched for him in every blink, in every closing of eyes, behind the lids. in her mind he stood on the opposite shore, then fell on the river. in her mind she dove after him, dove into a starry black of night and found that she was asleep while awake and that another dream was wasted on reality.


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