Rain poured from the sky in a way few had seen before. It wasn't a storm but it made people think twice before going out. Nevertheless she had finals to take and defying all odds made her way to the tube's entrance. As she sat down on the cart on her way to the center of London the weight of her life as a medicine student fell on her shoulders. Her usually straight pose fell underneath the weight of sleepless nights and stress.
"I must distract myself", she thought and got out the book she was currently reading. She settled down on her seat the best she could and murmured, "I wish I had coffee". Suddenly a hand came out of nowhere with a hot to go cup of steaming coffee.
"Hey" a guy sitting at her side said.
"I work at the cafe you always go to and, seeing you didn't come by today I decided to bring you this", he told her extending his hand towards her. Yes, she knew him he was the guy that always made her coffee... Alex? No, not Alex. Stephen... yes Stephen sounded right. She couldn't believe he went all the way to get out of work and follow her into the tube to bring her coffee. Suddenly his name didn't matter because he represented all that she wanted at that moment: a warm drink and companionship. She silently gave thanks to the gods above for putting people like this on earth. It was in that way she and him met, in that faithful, tragic day that both would breath their last.
A strand of hair escapes from her braid. It flows in the wind never taking from. Only when it curls in a Goldilocks way leaves no doubt of the true nature of her spirit, hiding underneath that tranquil facade. It is quite lovely. When that same strand is pulled from her braid I hope it will land in a place where it can never be touched by times whims. That line of hair is hers, and mine. That fine black stand contains her very essence, her beautiful genetic code, unique in this world. Those genes make her who she is, make her the person I am besotted with. And although I do not lover, I find her a deliciously complicated soul full of labyrinthine paths that I want to walk, unlocking all her secrets...
Fictional, that's an interesting concept... For me fictional is not something that does not exist in my dimension or in my physical world. For me fiction is reality and reality is fiction. They are one and the same concept. What exists in my mind is only a reflection of what is and what is maybe is not. I don't know if my world is reality or if the "fictional"world I have in my head is the true world, the one I was actually born in. It all combines and I can't separate one from the other. Am I crazy? Are there others that think like me ? Now as I write this from the white room I am in I wonder if fiction or reality, reality or fiction can be separated.