Then There You Were.

début.

-          prologue.

Present time yet in the past.

His eyes shone like a million fallen stars, sprawling and heart rendering, I think I have seen those eyes before, the same eyes that haunts my dreams every night.

The moonlight dancing across his features, cascading down the freckles down his neck like constellations, his lips forming a ghost of a solemn smile, so gracefully heart tugging.

But dreams are just... Dreams, right?

But why does my soul long and ache as soon as the sun rises, gold streaks dancing like long lost dreams across my bedroom walls, tears slithering down my flushed cheeks, my heart ever so hollow, my skin ever so cold, like a film reel flashing before my eyes to slowly slip between my fingers like sunbeams between fingers, fading into lingering emotions heavy upon my shoulders like rolling grey clouds across rolling valleys.

And somehow, somewhere, someday, I know those dreams will not just be a silhouette of my slumbering soul, but as real, as warm and as lark as a spring day, as swinging and alive as music, as roaring as the twenties.

And I hold onto this hope every waking dawn.
 

-  hey  agatha.

Days have lost me.

Does the sun still shine in the bustling humdrum of the city you call home?

Do you wake with that wondrous smile as you gaze at the rising sun? Humming to the songbirds like what we did once upon a lifetime ago?

Does your soul still reminisce about the life long gone?

Hey Agatha, do you still remember me?

- home.

12 years ago.

 "I kissed dew drops upon your cheeks, your eyes sparkling like the moon and there I beheld, the once was. Never has my soul felt warm yet chilled to the bone."

Maybe it was the stars captured in those eternal eyes, streaking the haunting soul.

Like melodies transcending through time, a sorrowful ache yet so riveting and wondrous like the gushing stream, the sweet pang of nostalgia wafting like the musky smell of a room trapped in time, lingering longing hanging in the air like dust motes catching against sun beams, a tranquility so still, so quiet like a slumber on a midday when the world's away, down dirt roads, passed rolling hills and stretching plains and valley.

Yet so very thunderous, like a stake taken to heart, like a summer storm, deep rumblings of thunder like heart stirring musings by the hearth, that made me feel home was never where I was but with whom.

Tucked away, like a lace handkerchief to a breast pocket, a tiny room, locked away forever, rests and a photo of a man, hangs by the fireplace, an ensnaring gaze, a ghost of a smile upon sharp features yet with delicate gentleness, and the ache never ceased as I stepped out of the tiny room, shrouded in long lost memories, flitting like shadows upon wallpaper to vanish into a bright new dawn.

But who?