the threads in her head

Sometimes dreaming means extinguishing yourself-

Open the drawer, let everything spill. I see your face. The past and present, it mingles together, swirl around and vanish into each other. You’ve changed and yet you have not. Are you still the boy I used to know. 6 years has passed. I didn’t ask for your contact. Should I have? This feels like a movie.

When I was younger, I would float off into lazy day dreams. High among clouds, I wondered what it would be like to meet you again. I remember how you smiled at me, bringing your finger to your lips, signaling for me to keep quiet. That’s the most vivid memory I have of you.

I wonder what you are like now. So close, yet so far. How did you recognise me? I did not recognise you. But you saw me, your mind spun around, you saw the little girl of 6 years ago, and you spoke to me. You said hi.

My hazy mind searched for your face. All I got was a faint misty image. But I remember what you did. In words, I can describe. I see no pictures though. But I remember what you did.

I remember thinking about you.

You’re quite good-looking. Quite.

It is funny how things work. How you got into hwa chong institution. How I got into nanyang girls’ high. I could have gotten into raffles. But I landed in nanyang, and I met you.

You’re a miracle. You're my miracle.

You don't know, but you're the lighter that light up my flame of hope, the hand which blocked the wind, and thus supported it to go strong. Gently, just by being there, for thus allowing the day to be better than what I expected, than what I had hoped for.

I don't mind not getting your contact in the end.