A/N: A lot of stuff happened in the past month irl and because of that, I lost interest in writing for a few weeks. But now I'm back! TADA! HAHAHA. Just don't get your hopes too high, I only resumed writing two days ago and I have no fics stocked to post in the future. /waiting for an epic inspiration burst

GO READ. :)

People say dreams are not real. They claim dreams are nothing but a recent recollection of memories right before turning in for the night. A mental activity, they say. Some, however, feels vivid enough to seem real and at times, almost too real.

She visits me in my sleep secretly yet I welcome her presence anyway. My dreams are never the same every night, but there is always that faceless woman who stood out from the rest of the imaginary crowd. She would materialize out of thin air and despite being clothed in different garbs and varying styles in each dream, I would instantly know it’s her. It takes one look through my eyes and my heart would declare: It is her.

There was a happy parade. The streets were bustling with people and each nook and cranny of the whole imaginary town was thriving with a happy noise, a happy vibe. I didn’t know what the celebration was all about but everyone looked too happy, especially the children, to be bothered.

And so I moved from my spot and mazed through the bodies of the mob, trying my best to reach the front where I can see the parade. With perseverance and a little bit of luck, I managed to swoop on the small space right on the edge of the pavement. It was only then that I was able to see the fullness of tonight’s dream.

The people sported a unique sense of fashion that consisted of tie-dyed shirts, bell bottom jeans and outrageously large sunglasses. Right then and there, I knew that this is not my generation. Everyone had funny hairstyles but who was I to laugh when I was the peculiar foreigner who wore a hoodie and sweatpants.

When I saw the retro banners held by the people, I realized what today’s event was. A peace parade.

They freed the balloons and let them fly into the sky’s oblivion. My sight never left that one balloon in the sky. I thought it would soar higher and higher til it reached the heavens but like the rest, it blew and disappeared, much to my chagrin.

With a small sigh, I turned away from the sky and focused on the parade instead. Strangely enough, there was a flash of something red right across the road. And at the sight of the porcelain skin that slowly emerged from nowhere, my heart raced.

Everything was suddenly in slow motion like a very cliché movie scene. The happy noise of the parade drowned in the sound of my erratic heartbeat that grew more dangerous by the second. I couldn’t even tell anymore whether I was holding my breath or catching it because the presence of her took my breath away, and if this breathlessness would be the death of me, I don’t mind dying twice.

She made to move, towards the back where my eyes couldn’t trace her anymore and my senses were on high alert, my body mirrored her movements so that I could follow her.

I call her Tiffany because my heart tells me that that’s her name. Tiffany is gentle. She has no flaws, impeccable even. She moves with so much finesse, I sometimes think Tiffany would float away like a delicate butterfly. I’ve seen her in my dreams so many times, I feel like I know everything about her, but if there is one thing I don’t, it would be how she looks like. Tiffany has no face. I don’t know if her eyes arch and disappear when she smiles, if her cheeks turn pink when she blushes or if she claps her hands when she laughs. Sometimes it disappoints me that she would always run from me and leave me hanging.

And then I’d wake up, frustrated and unsatisfied.

And when Tiffany was finally away from the crowd, I was already crossing the road midway. The parade people nor the happy crowd don’t seem to notice this foreigner foiling their happy procession.

I dashed and threaded through the crowd who, in turn, didn’t even flinch when I forcefully pushed them. It was like I wasn’t even there.

And then the surroundings began to change, morphing into an apple orchard complete with a country milieu. Gone were the crowd and the parade, and what’s left was only the garden and the red-haired lady sitting under an apple tree. As I trudged closer, I suddenly realized that this is the first time I have ever gotten this close to reaching her. In my other dreams, she was always running away from me as if she was leading me on and on. Not that I mind though, but sometimes, I’d like to just sit down and finally ask for Tiffany’s real name.

And when I was finally a step away from her, Tiffany suddenly closed the quaint book she was reading and stood up, her back facing me. I thought she would turn around and acknowledge my presence but to my dismay, Tiffany began walking away.

Fed up of being stringed on, I took off to chase her again. Maybe if I run fast enough, I could get ahead of her and block her path.

And I did just that.

I my heels and lifted my arms side to side to make a barricade but in a bitter twist of fate, Tiffany has disappeared.

Where did she go?

“Does this happen every time you sleep?”

“When I dream, yes.”

The sound of pen hitting paper echoed in the small office. When the doctor finally finished, he asked again.

“Still taking the meds I prescribed?”

“You don’t have to doubt me. I’m not like your other patients.”

“Good. I just want to make sure. I hope you’re not taking the sleeping pills anymore like I told you.”

“Of course, doc. Trust me a little.”

He looked at me for a moment, as if he was doubting my words and inhaled, “Nevermind.” He said, “How do you feel when she appears in your dreams?”

A small sigh, “Excited and curious. Breathless as usual. You know she does this to me. But the moment I wake up, I feel irked because I didn’t see her face. She was right there. So close yet so far.”

The doctor nodded and jotted down a few more, “Tell me more.”

“I hope I don’t weird you out, doc. I need someone to talk to because if I don’t, I might go crazy. The last thing I need is to lose a good doctor.”

He smiled in a fatherly manner, immediately keeping me at ease, “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Okay, doc.” I sunk into the couch as I continued sharing my frustration thanks to Tiffany.

After talking with the doctor, I went downtown to run some errands. I never told anyone about my check-ups. I am afraid that people will judge me and jump to conclusions regarding my mental state. Truth be told, Tiffany’s appearances in my dreams do affect me a lot. She’s supposed to be nothing but a fruit of a mental activity yet when I wake up, I feel as if she’s more than just an imagination. She lives in my dreams, reigning over my subconscious like she was the queen of it; like she owned me.

I don’t know how it began; don’t know where she came from or what caused her to suddenly pop up in my sleep. They say that dreams are supposed to be never the same, which is basically true, however in my part, there’s that one constant element that’s always never gone. Tiffany.

She comes unwelcomed, she comes unknown, but Tiffany seems like a very capable woman who would always find a way to sneak in. If her presence is meant to be a sign, a premonition of any sort, shouldn’t I have figured out what it signifies?

“Watch where you’re going! You made me spill my drink! Geez!”

“Sorry.” I mumbled to the annoyed person I bumped into.

“This is my favorite shirt.”

I finally looked up and felt the hairs on my arm stand.

“Tiffany…”

My heart swelled in a feeling so foreign to me yet also so familiar. Was it love?

“You are so beautiful…” I whispered.

“Are you insulting me, punk?” The gruff looking man gritted his teeth, “You call this gangster leader beautiful. Do you want me to you up?”

This is what Tiffany does to me. I am as detached from the real world as an embalmed corpse; physically present yet mentally absent.

“I’m sorry, mister.” Bowed twice. “I really am.”

“Hell, you better be!”

And then I left the gathering crowd in shame. I don’t like it when people stare at me with that kind of look that’s judging and disgusted like I harbor an infectious disease. So I quickly moved, briskly walked towards the pond where elderly men and women liked to flock. My hands were shaking when I stopped. I was panting heavily as if drowning in air. I a breath to calm myself. It didn’t work.

I tried again. Nothing. I closed my eyes, hoping that unseeing the world would help wane the panic attack.

I need my medication.

“Are you alright?” asked a voice. A woman.

I could barely talk; a lump was forming in my throat.

“Asthma? Are you asthmatic?” she asked one more time.

I shook my head, eyes still closed, half-hoping she’d go away and just leave me be.

“You look so pale. Do you want me to take you to the hospital? I c