He woke suddenly without reason. Something reasoned him to consciousness. He took stock. White walls waiting for artistry life, simple furniture. Window opened, fresh air flowing freely in the dark. Birds were singing, a jungle of music of every type and nature. The bed disheveled, he had slept restlessly. The red light of the bedside clock red 3:38. It was unusually quiet. The bedroom door was closed. The bedroom door is never closed. And he remembered, she was there. Her creativity, her sensitivity focused at night, when the soul noise of humanity slumbers and her mind can gain space. She would close the door so as to shut his presence, so as to find her solace. He understands and he will not disturb.
He woke suddenly with reason, from a deep slumber. It is quiet, the flow of air from his open window empty of night sounds, of wildlife, even of insects. His bed empty and unslept next to him, his reminder. He has no bedside clock, only devices with clocks built into them. The bedroom door is open, it has never been closed. The time is indeed 3:38. Her presence is out there, his dream brought her near. Exploring her essence he finds nothing distraught. His comfort complete his sleep he repeats.
One day, her presence will be present and real, whoever she be.
She be...
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