She’s asleep in bed, but her heart is still awake. Her heart is waiting for the familiar rat-a-tat-tat of the door, and refuses to fall asleep until it’s forced to keep dreaming.
Her hands are dreaming now; they grasp for the door handle to let someone else’s feet inside. Her arms slide through the air, wondering where the smell of perfume is wafting from. The aroma makes her hands slick, and she rubs them together in frustration.
She’s on the ground, her back bearing a burden she can’t carry. Her knees scrub the ground, and she feels the eyes of nightguards taunting her. They tell her she’s foolish in the eyes of man, that she’s wasting her time on illusions and dreams. But her hope blows their unspoken words away, so she continues to struggle.
Her unseeing eyes are open, and they’re looking for the smallest flash of gold and trails of ebony. She sniffs to catch the scent of lilies and cedars. She rolls in her sleep, and thinks that it would be so much easier if she allows herself to be found. But she knows that she is beautiful, and beautiful women are beautiful because they know how to hide.
Her dreams run away, and she waits for awhile before following them.