I opened my eyes. Only a sheet of whiteness was in front of me. A drop of sweat rolled into my eye. It burnt. But I could not do anything about it. Suddenly, few black dots emerged from the sheet of whiteness, one of seemingly rushing to me. When it came near to me, it materialized in the face of my mother, who wiped both of my eyes. My vision started to return slowly. I saw the other black dot take the shape of my father. My mother said something to my father as she started crying. I could not hear them. Their voices were muffled. I was at loss. I wanted to call them. I tried. I failed. I was afraid. Then out of nowhere, I could remember. I was with someone, holding hands, walking down a long road, talking about life. Our life. The sound of woodpeckers was still vivid in my memory. Then, by instinct, I felt the need to be with the one with whom I had decided to share my life. But I could not. All I could do was think about it. All I could do was think and wish.
I was forced to spend my life in this thinking box. Forced to be sad with no outlet for it. Then my prayers were accepted. He came. He was right in front of me. But he, not for once looked at me. Some of my family members around him were telling him something that I could not hear. Then he turned around to leave. I wanted to touch him. To let him know that I was here. To tell him to not leave me alone. But he left. He never came back. I wanted to tell him that I still loved him. I wanted to see him again
I doubt I ever will.