“[…]what are you?” She asked with a cried, fainted voice, pulling her eyes out from the cushions.
“You know me.
I am your forever friend, you prayed for me. I am now deserted in the woodden box you keep in the attic, between the pages of an old journal.”
She thought she might be dreaming so she didn’t bother much.
“Whenever you cry, my wings get rained. My wings are wet for long now.
I thought you could use a joyride.
You can still swing to the Moon, you know.”
“You’re not real. Leave me alone.” she whispered lazily.
“Real is whatever you choose to believe in.”
He looked at her dazzling, peachy dress, splashed with mud. One shoe was missing a heel. She looked like a doll who had recklessly wandered in the Neverland of Toys, searching, and struggling through her search.
She seemed dishearted, drowsy, melted like butter on a burnt toast, with the hair frizzed and the breath heavy.
“Beautiful. Lively. Wild”
“I came to save you.”
She answered with a half awake voice: “I am not yours to save.”
“You are. I have been late. I know. I haven’t met you when you kneeled and begged the sky to end your torture.
My way was not easy.
But I came. You are mine to save.”
She felt triggered by that strong voice calling her name and claiming to own her.
She tilted her head; the moment sketched a wrinkle between her eyebrows. “Where do I know him?”
He pulled out an umbrella: ” It’s still raining. But soon no more.
Let us go.
Your world has just begun.”