You sat there next to me, holdings a torn piece of paper with something written on it; crumpled up.  The uniform lines were more than evident on the crumpled piece. The blue of the ink, so prominent in the pale pink of the paper. I could feel you quiver as we sat staring at the blankness of the scene that lay at our disposal. Somehow my eyes seemed to have latched on to the creases of the paper, the unfamiliar creases that were visible through the few strands of hair the fell on your face. The paper, seemed to have found a home between your fingers which held on to it like a mother to a child. To my utter realization, I feel a drop splatter on my arm. You were crying. You mentioned someone in your phase of lament. It made me feel relentless as I could not do anything about it even if I wished to. I could feel myself drowning in melancholy, the pain was unbearable. I was in a pool of sadness and with that sadness I welcomed my day, I open my eyes only to realise it was all but reality; I was only dreaming. 


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