Dreams Speak the Truth - Prologue
Prologue of my next story. Comment please! Every comment counts!
It began in the late eighties. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in ebony waves. She was built slim and almost childlike, despite being nearly 19 at the time. She had been visiting her grandmother's in late summer. Her grandmother widowed a man just rolling in money. Her name had been Willow.
Like the tree.
Named after the big weeping willow in her backyard, where her mother had given birth and died. Born outside, and stuck to it with some kind of supernatural glue.
She had been anticipating this visit to her grandmother for a reason I had never understood. Until recently, she had been searching for a boy. A boy she had never met in person. Until, that day in the trees hidden in her grandmother's massive backyard. That's where it began. Not for her, not for me, but for the next round of fate.
When it actually started for me was the year 1999, when I was six. When I followed love inside my precious dreams, masked with a face that was not the one I recognized in the mirror, but still me. Different voice, hair, eyes, life; but me, all the same.
All I knew is that, I wanted him. His face would be clouded over by morning and my breath caught in my throat. Willow had loved this boy. This nameless, faceless boy who walked in my dreams. I loved him.
It wasn't that puppy dog love. It was the real, painful, deep, stitched to your skin forever kind of love. I was six. But I wasn't always that young. No, a long time ago, when I was older. I had loved a boy so much, that I was dragged back to find him. He is my addiction. I am his. I was a young woman with black curtains of hair. I was Willow. But something happened; I started to forget about him. More and more, until I didn't even see him in my dreams.
What is to be expected? People can't be chasing dreams. They have to be realistic. Even if my entire being drags itself on roots, sharpened stones, ashes and rotten earth to find the light at the end, in shape of a boy. There's no such thing as "Soulmates".
There's no such thing as soulmates. That's what I keep telling myself.
Like the tree.
Named after the big weeping willow in her backyard, where her mother had given birth and died. Born outside, and stuck to it with some kind of supernatural glue.
She had been anticipating this visit to her grandmother for a reason I had never understood. Until recently, she had been searching for a boy. A boy she had never met in person. Until, that day in the trees hidden in her grandmother's massive backyard. That's where it began. Not for her, not for me, but for the next round of fate.
When it actually started for me was the year 1999, when I was six. When I followed love inside my precious dreams, masked with a face that was not the one I recognized in the mirror, but still me. Different voice, hair, eyes, life; but me, all the same.
All I knew is that, I wanted him. His face would be clouded over by morning and my breath caught in my throat. Willow had loved this boy. This nameless, faceless boy who walked in my dreams. I loved him.
It wasn't that puppy dog love. It was the real, painful, deep, stitched to your skin forever kind of love. I was six. But I wasn't always that young. No, a long time ago, when I was older. I had loved a boy so much, that I was dragged back to find him. He is my addiction. I am his. I was a young woman with black curtains of hair. I was Willow. But something happened; I started to forget about him. More and more, until I didn't even see him in my dreams.
What is to be expected? People can't be chasing dreams. They have to be realistic. Even if my entire being drags itself on roots, sharpened stones, ashes and rotten earth to find the light at the end, in shape of a boy. There's no such thing as "Soulmates".
There's no such thing as soulmates. That's what I keep telling myself.
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