House of dream

I dreamed about you.

About a house where you live. 

A house that has a table with lots of thick-page books, a dim light yellowish room with a standing lamp, several big teakwood  opened windows, and a comfortable red couch.

In that dream, I was standing outside that house, playing and talking with my friends. They spoke about something and we were having fun together. While you were studying inside the house, drowning with the reading. Suddenly you appeared and interrupted us.  

I saw your face, popping out from one of the big windows of that cozy house. And you smiled at me. 

I looked back at you and then, we talked and laughed and talked and laughed and talked and laughed until my friends’ face got disappeared one by one. Until the sun went down and we forgot about time.

And everything started to felt connected and reduced into a small world of us. I felt that you were so familiar to me. Your comfy house, your activity of reading the books on the table, your red couch, your smile and maturity, and the way you carried yourself. Your life, my life, and our crossed path. 

All that smile that I saw on the first time I knew you at that event I could not mention. I felt like I had known you for years and years. 

And, I woke up. It was still dark outside. There was only shadow of trees from my one and only window, and a light bulb. But, the feeling lingered on.


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