Under the sheets there’s warmth. Not from a tender heart spreading its heat to hers, but from tears that fall endlessly and vertically once each drop mounts the curvy banks and spills from the corner of the left eye. The soft beams of the moon filter into the room through the thin stripes of the curtain revealing the silver, glistening ray of tears connecting the corners of her two eyes.
She was pathetic enough to cry half the night hiding under the sheets, trying to muffle the sobs. Afraid? Yes. Not because of the spirits that haunted the house, going up and down the stairs, locking and unlocking doors often making creaking, squeaking sounds; but because she could make no excuses for doing what she did, crying for a reason she was not allowed to cry. Explaining how heavy you feel and why is more difficult than hiding under sheets, breathing ever so slowly, suffocating every now and then and crying. So she decided to suffer silently.
Tears, the companions of a broken heart, silently streamed down, and once they fell on the pillow the bubbly form flattened out. She wondered what happened to them inside the pillow. If only she could make a sheet out of fresh tears to keep her warm against the coldness of the night. But she can’t keep them warm, they grow cold in a little while after being born. They lose their innocence and warmth as the bubbly creatures become monsters with silver tentacles spreading along your cheeks revealing you, betraying you.
Her eyelids became heavier with each blink, now shutting slowly and opening half way and then shutting completely. Now her thoughts ran aimlessly from one place to another, one face to another. And before she knew it, they lifted her up in the air, like the wind swiftly but gently raised a feather, and took her to a different dimension. It’s called the dream world, a place where tears cannot betray her.