And like the silly girl she was, she ran from the moment in the inky cold night.
So far, so that she would never have to come back to the time, that wasn’t hers. That didn’t belong to her.
She had dreamed of it for so long, and now that it was there, so close, she ran, trying to save herself from the absurdity of the situation,
that had never occurred to her before when she used to dream of her.
Night and day.
How strange? Her dream in front of her eyes, so close, she could extend her hand and touch it, but this wasn’t her.
The dream wasn’t her, then how could she accept it. So she did the only thing.
Her lungs demanded oxygen but she couldn’t care less. It was scaring her being so close to the dream she wished to be true for so long, for she had waited for years.
Her thoughts repeated concentrated on how dare she even dream about it. When it was never hers in the first place.
Her heart beat staccato, whether it was the running or her thoughts, she didn’t know.
Tears streamed down her eyes, burring her vision, as if it made a difference in the night.
She cried all that night.