The dream (His/Her)

It was almost noon, his final meeting was adjourned, and he was set to review his work while he was in they're midsts, the effect of they're gazes, some was judgmental others simply contemplative of his work.

He was not a pro, well not in the eyes of these artistic architects of the real world, he was a man with a vision, yes. But his vision was somewhat limited.

He had learned a lot within these few months, it layered him in every aspect of his being, the way he looked at the possibilities was more optimistic now, he smiled more, and found that life was not such a bad place to be.

His eyes roamed over his colleagues, his supervisors, and otherworldly geniuses among his team of revolutionary minds.

He enjoyed every moment, every sweat it had taken for him to produce, the effect of piles of work done, the sense of pride he had with every pat on the back, every congratulating smile.

He had made it here somehow.

And that was something.

She didn't come in his thoughts then, did not intoxicate him with her eyes, and voice.

No, he was still and focused at the task at hand, the world looking only to him, reporters filming in the background as he finally went on to his unveiling.

As he pronounced his accomplishments, the world around him beamed, and glittered, the masses at his feet began to clap, and at the end cheers of hail come to voice at the foreign man before them.

"Bravo, Bravo!" said one, another clapped him on the back and an older french woman tried agilely to kiss him flat.

He was brought up laughing and the camera's told of how he looked, the way he beamed at the international array of faces, forgotten a dream in his head.

Yes, how long has he come to forget.

And here, it had happened.

Her face became lost in the masses that surrounded him, and he finally forgot.

At least for that moment.


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She finally entered her old chambers, the white of her walls turned yellow, her bed spread smelled of dust, her father's old room she did not dare enter, she had designed it in her head that it would stay just the way he had left it, an old portrait of her mother by the lampshade, his own picture from his army days tucked into the wood framed mirror of his dresser, the scent of his old spicy cologne still clinging on his grey sheets.

How she missed him.

His smile, the fabled pat on her shoulder when her head was looking downwards, tears lurking in her eyes, he was always optimistic about the world, like it would one day rain flowers.

She did not know how he could do it, he had lost so much before her eyes, everything around them seemed to shrink and disappear, his own career, his early retirement, his business falling into crumbs and all he was left with was debts, and more debts at her lavish education.

Her mother gave up her luxurious life style, of shopping and relying on the help, instead they had let go most of they're servants, they're expensive european cars to used asian ones, she was riding a benz to school when so abruptly she had switched to riding the bus instead.

Her mother gripped at the changed life poverty had introduced, but she wasn't one accustomed to strain.

She had left them when she was thirteen.

Of course being her father's daughter she never once looked back on her, her mother was half french and had taken flight to her family in Nice, she had tried to contact her several times but to no avail. -That was how she had come to speak french like a native, though very few people knew of how she had obtained it.-

She was not one to be discarded then picked up again, she would never take such a person back.

She had decided to keep true to her father's memory, and leave things exactly the way he had left them.

Well, atleast what she could keep the same.

Her marriage was over, and so was her deliance in paris.

The thoughts she had built on they're meetings, what a fool she was.

To think that she could take back the things she had left and just simply start over.

The world was not a white page, and she certainly did not have the means to change it.

Memories, words, and actions took to come where she was now, she had dug herself an exit and she was yet to go through it.

Where would she go from here?

So there she sat on her old bed, a lone lamp open in the darkened house, the walls seemed to hum at her presence, and she tried to ignore the normal fear of anyone who was alone in an old house.

She picked up a pen, an old note book, and began to scribble.

"The world around me has changed, I no longer see the ghosts I fear, the words in my head encourage me to step forward, and the corridors of life seems to light at my every step.

My world has changed, papa.


I am no longer a little girl in need of your embrace, I've grown, I miss you terribly, yes. But I know that our times will all come to an end someday, now, for no reason at all, I live on. I regret not having you feel pride for me, the way you'd look at my failures sympathetically and continue to cheer me on, I never looked upon you that way when you most needed it, papa. I only wished for the things I could not have. I complained about wanting my own car, when yours barely got you to work, I imagined journeys to foreign worlds, when you barely could pay my school bills, I never cared one whit about your composure, the way you looked on to me and smiled, shaking your head at the ideals of a dreamer although promising you'd get me all that I wanted and more. Papa, why do I ache? Why do I fall every time I look up? Why am I lost now? How did you peruse through those dark moments when no one was there?

I have so many questions, yet. The answers I seek are buried with you. I cannot face the world yet, Papa. I will stay here, in the place where you breathed your last breath.

I love you,
Your daughter~


She looked upon the sheet of paper, her eyes blurry, and she blinked the blur away, only to find that her words became wet, and her breath was stolen in a moan.

She brought her knees together and wept, she let her pain seep through her tears, in the private place that was completely hers, she cried.

For her past, the chance at a dream, and her loneliness.

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I Just wanted to comment that this post really made me tear while writing it, I hope my thoughts in words actually succeeded in showing those characters true emotions, please keep in mind that I do not edit. This is a very raw draft, I hope you enjoy reading the His/Her posts as much as I enjoy writing them.

Those characters unnamed as they are seem to really grow on me, and some of you might wonder why I choose to leave them unnamed, well; I don't know. I like the concept of keeping that way though. :P

Oh! Commet please. :)

Until next time,
Adieu . :**