Intuitive dream

(shortstory)

As usual she goes on the daily mondays.
Go to her regular cafè,
Sat on the same booth near a window,
With either a book, mac, or drown in her music,
Sipping while getting a glimpse across the street.

Downtown, to a local library,
Around seven blocks towards the flowershop,
Behind a gate.
Her go to place,
As she move on along the day.

Sniffing the satisfying autumn atmosphere as she exited,
Seven blocks she arrived,
sharped time greeted and handed her the bouquet,
The routine they also did, recognizing her.
Cosmetics to seal all of her cracks,
Meditated laughs as she gave back the choreographed smiles, while handed the bill.

Been like ages, she thought.
Putting the roses each, stone by stone.
Reading the inscribed on it.
Wondered y the roses had already gone out noticing she had missed one.
Leaves crushed as she walked towards the added dusty stone.

Awoken, as she faced her room
Looking around, stopped
Stared at the ceiling.
Perspired, cold, scared. Alone.
Engulfed to the hole of darkness,
Thinking her name on the inscribed words.