That’s her name. People used to call her Cece. I never got to know her family name. Or maybe I did and I just forgot. After all, it’s been… what? Eight years. Time moves so fast, yet I still find myself thinking about her on and off.
In that short amount of time that I knew her, she always seemed to be looking out for something, and this would give me a sort of strange lonely and helpless feeling.
As years go by, it is getting harder for me to recall her whole face. At first, it took me two minutes to recall her face. It took an extra minute for me to finally hear her voice ringing in my ears. We didn’t share lots of memories together, but every time the memory resurfaces, it gives a certain kick to my brain. It’s like a personal wake-up call from her.
Wake up, I will hear her voices softly whispers, like the white sand under your naked feet. Wake up now. I’m still here, can’t you feel me anymore?
Her voice is followed by a hollow echo nesting in the depth of my heart. I wonder whether she has been trying to convey something to me — something that she couldn’t put in words. I wish I have observed her more closely. I wish I have managed to find a way to make her opened herself more. I wish I could be the one she could share everything with.
Throughout her stay in the asylum, I have never seen she got a visitor. The staffs informed me that she never had one. She came here alone, bringing the necessary paper work signed by doctors and a big fat cheque. She was admitted here quietly.
On the day she disappeared, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad has happened to her but she couldn’t find a way to let other people knew. That thought always leaves me with an almost unbearable sadness, although it usually goes away at the end of the day.
The rain softly knocks the floor-to-the-ceiling window, and I turn around to watch it falls down without a sound. I wonder whether she has a shelter from the pouring rain tonight. I wonder whether she has someone to hold her, to tell her that everything is going to be alright eventually.
But does she really need someone to say that to her?
I’m not so sure. What do I really know about her anyway? I know nothing other than her name. I don’t even know why she was there in the first place. Yet, I keep thinking about her like I’ve known her my entire life.
Sometimes I have dreams about her. Those dreams are always so murky and surreal, and in each dream I can never catch a perfect sight of her whole face.
It’s like watching a projection of herself made by the remaining memories I have about her come alive.
The dreams always take place in either the asylum’s café or the room she used to share with Mads. It’s always raining outside and I always find myself either hugging her or lying beside her, wishing like hell that she’ll turn around so that I can see her whole face. She’s always wearing the same grey sweater on top of her simple buttoned down white shirt and there is something exotic in her presence in that dream.
She talks a lot in my dream, but I can never catch her words. Her voice sounds like it comes from far away, and I am always way too absorb in her presence to be able to concentrate on what she’s saying.
Again, it seems like she’s trying to convey a message to me but I cannot manage to get it right. I will find myself asking her to repeat her words or to slow down a little, but she never does. She ignores me as usual.
“You need to find me,” is the only sentence I manage to hear.
“But where are you?” I ask helplessly.
Talk to me, I want to beg but I cannot find my voice. Tell me more. I need to know more. Are you okay? What’s happened to you?
Of course, there’s no answer to those questions.
I will soon find myself waking up sweating in bed as I try hard to grasp the details from my dream. But there is nothing new in my dream. Everything is the same like the previous dreams.
Why do I keep on having these dreams. Is it just a dream, or is it some kind of sign?
I’m not much into those craps about psychic abilities and the mumbo-jumbo stuffs like that, but I cannot shake the nagging feeling that she actually tries to contact me through my subconscious state.
The reverberation of her voice, begging me to find her, will linger in my mind for the whole day.
It feels so real, as if she’s whispered that sentence directly in my ears.
I look up to the dark sky and sigh.
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