“Where’s your story to go? Little one, why don’t you love? Why don’t you live?”
“Because it’s hard…”, she whispered from lips numbed by sleep. She dreamt of a hand gently caressing her forehead, feeling neither maternal or paternal in nature.
“Hard?”, the hand paused. Her brow furrowed and her limbs stirred under the sheets, she did not want the hand to stop and let the ease it brought slip away.
Continuing its long gentle strokes across her brow, the slender frame spoke again.
“I suppose, yes, things such as that are hard.”
Blue tinted lips pursed in thought, it paused.
“You, my dear , are to smart for your own good. Sadly, this is what hinders you.”
The pale hand stopped its course across the girls brow and descended to the side of her face and rested there. Only a thumb gently sweeping across her cheek brought her comfort in the midst of her slumber now.
“Some events will occur without prompt others wait for you to set them in motion, such is the world.”
As she woke the next morning she was troubled by the remaining wisps of the nights dream. Vaguely recollecting the feeling of two hands cupping the sides of her face with a pair of warm lips resting gently upon her own. Her only thought on the matter being,
“I really need to stop eating before I go to bed.”