You entered my dreams by cutting the queue. I barely even know you. We are bound by death of a woman that was dear to both of us. To you, actually the best friend. To me just an acquaintance, but of that kind that leaves a deep mark.
You remember me from the high school, but I don't recall you. Only later I did manage to remember that bubbly blonde crazy girl, as I could not believe that the lady in pink suit is the same person. Back then you were not a dream, but reality, though unusual, almost surreal.
It was an awkward meeting. Your best friend is the main character of my novel. I didn't know that she was no longer alive, while I was weaving her into the other side of reality, her name unrevealed by the magic of writing. To you she was almost everything, to me almost nothing. And yet, her personality touched me and inspired me to make her home within letters and words. She was moving unrestrained between this and the other realities, while you and me were separated by invisible weaving that connected us. We were groping for a crack, trying to find a point of connection. Something that would make it easier for you to approach. Something that will alleviate my impression that I'm the worst scum you've ever encoutered.
Maybe I am that rogue. Maybe that's why I let you in my dream. Maybe it wasn't even your frist time to encroach it...
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