The Dreamer's Lover

"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 away. However, the wealthy can 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 captured 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 were not even having this conversation. The man was tall enough for his age, about 6-foot tall, that when I stood beside him, he would only make me look a little too slender. I don't know why, but every time this man knocks on my door, he is wearing a suit and tie topped with a top hat. Like he came from an old movie. I was stunned by his built against the sunlight that came through the glass. I have felt a familiar sentiment that this man has been giving off since the day he appeared at my front porch like it was his own 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 would help me ease 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 might come into a connection to a memory I cherished and reminisced. However vast the universe is, somehow everything I had made contact with, all came back to me like I was a spinning black hole. They all get pulled by my gravity.  "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 fled 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 from 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 dizzy and agitated with the overwhelming flashes of the scenes of my unfortunate past. "But she changed me. She changed my verdict of 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."