She never arrives at my dreams. There was only one time... when I was digging mother's grave with hands. Taking her out. Dragging along... I was taking her body to the surface. Kneeling next to her, her skin aged under my fingers' touch. I had to take her back to the grave and then the story repeated itself. I, dragging her out, her body in my arms... aging cold. Finally her Sufi Master stood next to me. She stood facing him naked with her usually serious face. The Master said nine days, nine months or nine years from The Day; she would had died, as we all are one day. She looked at the Master and said The Truth exists and walked back to her peaceful place.

We learn nothing new. We have the source of knowledge in our spirit, as I know now I have always loved you. I speak truthfully of my thoughts my beloved, of my desires, my sensuality and heart. The voice of life, I call it. My voice free at last. Nothing to hold me back. In simple words, I love your smile, your eyes, your hands, your mind, your words, and your thoughts. Simple words absorbing my inexperienced dependency on your attention.

However vivid!