What emotion would rule her heart?
A sense of having lost touch with reality? Or an indistinguishable blend of several emotions?
As she sips her chai tea, her eyes travel to a non-existent object at the back of a long lost dream and I'm almost sure that she — this time — is irretrievably lost for good.
"Some Cancerians fear emotional intensity in a potential mate because they feel so emotional intense themselves," she says, out of the blue. Her eyes are still fixed on that non-existent object that only she can see.
I find myself wondering what's so fascinating about ghosts.
"Does this mean that my life has been nothing but a process through which I am giving concrete form to the dormant image inside me?" she wonders as the spring wind blows her silk hair, making it dances wildly around her enigmatic face.
"I don't know the answer to that, honestly," I reply, carefully turn my head up to the ceiling of my bedroom. We are both quiet for a while, then I turn my attention back at her, looking longingly at how my shirt looks ten times better when she wears it on her body.
"What do you think?" she asks, buttoning the top button and fixes her dreamy eyes at me.
"For me, I am doing things that are true to me. The only thing I have a problem with is being labeled," I say.
She seems to think about my words thoroughly for a full five minutes before her lips turn into a barely-there-smile.
"My doctor said that I just took it to the limit," she tells me as she wraps her delicate frame with her arms. "And here I am now, with this inflicted wound tattooed to my body until all my skin is gone. But it's okay. I'll live."
"You'll live," I copy her words, and she nods before finally retrieving herself to that forgotten dream of the world.
Who's the ghost now?