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There is a girl no different from any other. She stands on a land of dust and sand around her, where breeze is an occasional visitor. She took off her shoes and dug her feet into the hot sand; it burns and tingles at the same time. She likes the feeling but everyday she longs for the ocean and ravenous wind blowing in every direction. When she was a little girl, she used to play at the edge of the waters. Half-afraid yet half-excited if she went any further, the waters might sweep her away into the unknown. If she shuts her eyes tightly and prayed to the gods above, the universe might transport her there again. She was young, free and oblivious to the realities of the world around her.

These days, she dreams a lot. When she wakes up in the morning, she pens these dreams down detailing everything she could remember, desperate to hold on its recognition and its relevance. Last night, she thinks she dreams of driving a truck and running over a small child. But a man came out of thin air and made the child disappear. It frightens her. Not about running the child over but the man. He’s been in so many of her dreams. The same man dressed always in a black suit, a white open collared shirt and a boutonnière of white gardenia. She can’t see his face but it is always the same man. Who is he?

She reads too much into every sign, working out every possibility. Words comfort her, it gives meaning to hold on to. She made herself a cup of chamomile tea and sits at her desk, thinking. She eyed her notebook that she’s been filling out the past two weeks. Thick and dripping with every dream she’s had about the elusive character in her dreams.

Flipping the pages of her notebook, she searches for the first recollection of memory she had of him. She reread her entry, hoping to find a clue. But it’s hopeless. They live in different worlds and her memory is failing her. Maybe he was just a memory invented or an illusion crafted. He doesn’t exist. He only visits her in her dream, when she is sleeping because he knows that way, she can’t chase him and he can still linger about, taunting her. On the first dream, she was in her room, lying on her bed reading when he appeared with an old, blue wooden cupboard. It juxtaposed with the other furniture in her room. He placed it down, opened it and went inside. She walked to the cupboard, unsure what to think and tried opening it but couldn’t. Knock knock, is anyone in there? No answer. A while later, she heard a whisper, don’t worry, I am here. I just miss you. She knocked on it again but no more words came out.

In the morning, she got up, opened a fresh page and jot what she could remember from her sleep. She wrote a string of sentences which doesn’t make sense but then again, her dream didn’t make sense either. Inspecting her room, she focused on where the cupboard was placed. She thought she smelled something, a whiff of him perhaps.

I just miss you. But who are you?

The next few dreams were all different but he was always there. He continues to visit her at night and in the morning; she jots down every detail she could possibly remember. Some days, when she is confused, she writes him a letter. She concocts her words like a potion, in the magical belief that the wind might carry them off to him somewhere in the globe where he actually existed. She sprinkled it with her words and sounds, occasionally peppering it with little stories of her day. It is certainly a desperate act she realizes but she feels a strong compulsion to know him. Maybe when he reads this, he will want to find her too. Sometimes, she thinks she can see him from a distance, if she tries hard enough. Perhaps if she concentrates really hard, she can bring him to life.

It frustrates her badly and she felt foolish.  Today especially. She lit up a cigarette, let it fills her lung. She drank her cold tea and stared into the empty space.  Dreams can manipulate but they can also cast some meaning, don't they, she queried. Holding the notebook in her small hands, she whispered, you must be somewhere and you must mean something, why else would you come to see me every night?