A surreal feeling, real at the time, but not so now. The feeling of watching through someone else’s eyes, privy to their thoughts, but at the same time disconnected. And here I was.
A white room, darkening with the fading light, plain and empty except for a single hospital like bed. Upon it lay a woman in her late twenties or early thirties. To put it simply, she was beautiful. Her long tumbling black hair was sprawled down her shoulders, partially covering her white patient clothing. Her face serene, almost sleeping yet somehow, I knew she was not. And where was I? Standing, still, staring down at her with a lump in my throat, unable to speak. Unable to utter a single sound.
How long this continued, I don’t know. In these circumstances, time takes on a transient quality and disappears fleetingly, neither asking for permission nor caring. What I did know though, was a strong heavy tone weighing down upon me. A tenseness that betrayed I was waiting for something. And when I returned my gaze to her face, I noticed the second tone, simultaneous with the first. An overwhelming sense of sadness, indescribable and unidentifiable. Did I know of something which I had since forgotten?
Again a passing of time, blank and empty, but next thing I knew I was gently pulling her up into sitting position, looping over her head a necklace. Gently, as if dealing with a fragile object, cracked and fractured, just about to shatter. I carefully cleared away her hair, sweeping it out from under the necklace. I remember giving her one last tight hug, despite her unconscious state and wanting to cry yet unable to. And what of the sense of waiting? It had been replaced as if I knew a certain time was approaching, was that why I had wanted a last hug? To grab a hold of the chance before it faded before my eyes.
What was approaching next, I don’t think I’ll ever know. Awaken rudely back into reality, lying in bed, and staring confused at the ceiling was where I was. But where was she? Who was she? Did I know her? Have I forgotten her? Why did I feel like crying? A dozen questions flooded my head, as the scene was still fresh in my mind. But as the days pass since that night my memory fades, til even her face becomes a blur of features, unknown to me. And as the calendar ticks away, I will probably be only able to remember fleeting glimpses through reading this entry, a reconstruction in itself. But I know this, if the opportunity arises, I wish I had spent a moment longer with her, despite the sorrow and uneasy nature to gain some answers and a conclusion. Maybe, just maybe, another night will bring an end to this chapter.
