She always enters my dream like Cathy's returning spirit in Wuthering Heights, drifting silently across the moors as i turn fitfully in my sleep, my tired body slumbering in the warm bed while my dream-self wanders across those same lonely moors by starlight.

Outside my window, the lady moon watches over both my sleeping being and my roaming soul, her silvery rays bathing the object of my affection with an almost supernatural aura, causing my eyes to widen in wonder, beholding her quiet and serene beauty.

Has she truly haunted this desolate spot for two hundred years now?

Constant and alone in her grief, she awaits the time when i shall return to her, born again a different and new man but still holding her deep and unbroken love within my soul.

Lying on the pillow with eyes still closed, i murmer a few words of comfort to her across the years, my hand reaching out in the void to claim and embrace her once more.

Then my old tormentor, wakefulness, suddenly grips me, chasing the dream from my mind for another night no matter how hard i try to recall it...and here i lie in darkness, overwhelmed by an inexplicable sense of loss and sorrow.

Troubling dreams that bring only questions and never answers, always that same silent spirit, always that sense of deja-vu and of almost grasping a vital truth but never quite succeeding in comprehending its elusive meaning.
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