Seeing her is like waking up from a bad dream.

She stands by the bedroom window, looking out onto the alley below. A white nightgown glowing in the moonlight. Lifting myself up, I go to her side. Her hair like black silk, entangling my fingers as I stroke her head.

Then she turns to me. Looks at me. Looks at me with those sad, sad eyes. And her lips, her full red lips, start moving, but no voice comes out. Why? Why can’t I hear her? When it’s been so long, when I’ve longed so much, where has her voice gone?

Then I realize what she’s saying.

“I’m gone now. Forget about me.”

I try to embrace her, try to keep her here. I never want to let her go. But it’s too late. The dream shattered and blew away, like shards of glass in a hurricane.

I sit up. My cat flies off the bed, alarmed by my sudden movement. I look to the window, but she’s gone. No white gown. No black hair. No red lips. Not a trace of such a woman.

Wait.

Who was that?

God, I hate my dreams.