The Dreamer's Lover

Prologue

"You see Mister, life is not as easy as it seems. It is filled with prejudice, both on the moral and the unethical. When a person is penurious, the wealthy look at him as if he was dirt - all gathered, cleansed, wiped out, or thrown. However, Mr. Wealthy could not see that these unfortunate poor races are not debris of their success but rather they are human beings who spent their time striving to live while working for the welfare of the wealthy," I pointed out the truth to living.

A man, about 30 years older than I am, stood by the window overlooking the landscape outside that in no doubt captures anybody's breath away - an elaborate art my wife had made. He just stood there for a minute or so as if I wasn't thinking out loud my insights towards life - as if we are not even having this conversation.

The man was tall enough for his age, about a 6-foot tall that when I stood beside him, he only makes me a little too slender. I don't get why but every time this man knocks in front of my door, he is always wearing a suit and a tie topped with a top hat. For a second there, I thought I was stunned by his built against the sunlight that comes through the window I have felt a familiar sentiment that this man has been giving off since the day he appeared in front of my front porch like it was a public place.

"When one has a surfeit amount of money, he becomes the epitome of greedy folks who were always behind monetary investments. When he helps the needy, poor little town, he is predetermined as someone in the chase of great fame. You see mister, life does suck."

I continued on and on as I paced inside my study as if walking back and forth will help me ease up my nerves. The garden. The window. The man. If I was a mere spectator of this whole life drama, I would not have thought that these three things may come into a connection to a memory I cherished and reminisced. However vast the universe is, somehow everything I had made contact with, all comes back to me like gravity was pulling them towards me.

"How about you Mr. Kepler? What was your story?"

The man faced me, made his way towards the champagne rack, poured a sophisticated brut millesime onto two glasses, and handed one to me.

"Oh, my story? Well, I am a poor guy, a very penurious lad who struggled and fought life through and through. My parents both abandoned me and flee with their own families. I was growing up with my grandmother for 12 years yet after those years, all that's left for me to do is to try to avoid reality's messed up fate through dreams I could control - all opposite, joyous, and fun. All of my life, I have been living my nights as an escape to every hardship of the cruel reality of this vast humanity.

Flashes of memories came back to my senses as if they all just happened days ago. My world was in circles, the study room felt like it was whirling into an abyss. I felt too dizzy and agitated with the overwhelming flashes of the scenes of my unfortunate past.

"But she changed me. She changed my verdict of the society, of the toxicity of humanity.

"She?" the man confusedly looked at me.

"Yes, She. The girl, Lady, the woman in my dreams. The only being I could not control. Ruyah."