I was walking through Pleasance Street when I realized that the road was wet. Rain had just stopped, but the cloud and the cold were still there. Hanging above my head like a massive black umbrella. A puddle stared at the empty vast galaxy, waiting for the stars to fall on its surface. But all I can see there were the dimmed street lamp and loneliness. And myself. And the loneliness within.
I wonder why the road was so long today–it was not like this yesterday, the day before, and the day before. Where was the end? Was it stretching itself? Where did it lead? Why was I even here at this hour? I stopped and looked around. Old shabby flats surrounded me like spooky decorations on October 30th. Where was I again? From the corner of my ears, I could hear the melody of Last Flower. played a thousand miles away. It was my favourite song. Where was it from?
I looked down at the puddle again. All I could see were myself and the loneliness within, longing for a small window leading to reality.
Slowly, the puzzles took itself to its shape: I am, here, walking a dream.