// Silhouette serenade

Have you ever imagined how it'll be like when someone you loved died suddenly and somehow no one knows how he had died? You'd spend the next few months in denial and bewilderment, not grief and sadness because you'd be wondering how he managed to vanish off the face of this world without anyone's knowledge, and how can God be so cruel as to take him away from you.

And then there's a catch. Jesus came to you and allowed you ten minutes with that person every day provided you can't ask him about his death. He would come back as a mute too, so all you two can do is cuddle and cry together with tears of happiness, familiarity and probably sorrow. That person would appear in a fixed place, say, from under your toilet sink and you've got to be there waiting for him lest that would be the last time he'd come to visit.

Every day.

For twenty minutes.

Until the day you can't take the ignorance of his death with his daily visits as a living reminder; when this miraculous privilege becomes absolute excruciating torture, or when you realise that you don't need him anymore.

I had a dream about this yesterday night. Fortunately or not, I woke up after Visit #2 where I was still in shock and denial, so I didn't have to find out how everything ended.

I think it's time to stop sleeping at 3am every night. Hahaha.

// Silhouette serenade

Have you ever imagined how it'll be like when someone you loved died suddenly and somehow no one knows how he had died? You'd spend the next few months in denial and bewilderment, not grief and sadness because you'd be wondering how he managed to vanish off the face of this world without anyone's knowledge, and how can God be so cruel as to take him away from you.

And then there's a catch. Jesus came to you and allowed you ten minutes with that person every day provided you can't ask him about his death. He would come back as a mute too, so all you two can do is cuddle and cry together with tears of happiness, familiarity and probably sorrow. That person would appear in a fixed place, say, from under your toilet sink and you've got to be there waiting for him lest that would be the last time he'd come to visit.

Every day.

For twenty minutes.

Until the day you can't take the ignorance of his death with his daily visits as a living reminder; when this miraculous privilege becomes absolute excruciating torture, or when you realise that you don't need him anymore.

I had a dream about this yesterday night. Fortunately or not, I woke up after Visit #2 where I was still in shock and denial, so I didn't have to find out how everything ended.

I think it's time to stop sleeping at 3am every night. Hahaha.