Her dreams were always the same. A silhouette of a man standing before the sunset, walking away as though he was leaving her. And she would always run, as fast as she could, stretching her hands to catch him. But useless. He would move farther and farther, no matter how fast she ran. Until the string of slumber broke. And she would wake up in tears, as though she had lost something... or someone.
Same thing happened every time the goddess of slumber embraced her. Like an inescapable trap. Like a bottomless pit. She was imprisoned by the dreams she made. But she chose to stay inside that prison, because some jails felt like heavens for those who were running away from something... or someone. Or maybe, for those who were chasing something... or someone.
The sun was gone and the sky near the horizon, a quarter of heaven, was tinged with orange. The rest of the sky was night. She sat on an old wooden chair as she brushed her silver hairs with her wrinkled hand. The old house was strange to her eyes, but her body knew it very well. Her mind had forgotten, but her heart still remembered.
"Who was he?" she whispered as she watched the horizon turning dark. She doesn't know him, but her heart wouldn't agree.
Her mind forgot. But her heart will always remember.
