I could hear my tread
I woke up amidst the crowd of sleeping selves
The night had a hussle but my mind was quiet
I was strolling in the middle of a queer sight
There was white smoke escaping the lips
That burnt a cigarette of their own flesh
And children playful and vulnerable
Hopping and splashing dirt unto the earth dweller
Eyes making merry, seeking out daylight
Blindly in the moonlight
I saw blazing flames rising to the sky
I stepped closer and watched the logs vanishing
The next morning I returned to see what remains
There was but ashes; of logs and souls
Every fortnight they met. The moon, the tree, and she. Dressed in moonlight, her gorgeous locks flowing in the air, caressing them, she crossed the dark mystic field without a worry in her eyes. Upon gazing her, the moon and the tree sighed.
Step by step she walked towards her, each step felt like centuries to the tree. Even though she had to wait a fortnight, the longest was after having her in sight.
The moon blinked. He knew how tree felt about her. They often talked about how she baffled their senses. They talked in whispers about their fear of not having to see her after another fortnight. Fear was but their expression of longing, of desire and desperation. They were helpless.
What were they to call it? Love was often taken as mating of bodies. But they were mating dreams. Together was when people were bound to each other, but they were free with each other. So this was neither love, nor togetherness.
What is it then?
A lucid dream, you two! She giggled.
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