White silvered and short hair old woman, thin, in a good shape for an 80 year old lady. She dresses in silver-blue color, watching a great view from her balcony, her house is built on a high mountain with a great lake at the bottom. She still lives abroad, and does not plan to ever return to her home town, which she does not know where it is located. Never was an important matter as she feels she does not belong to earth.
Knowing that the time is almost over, she anxiously wishes to cross the bridge between life and the unknown world, this is the world where she guess she belongs to. At least that is what she always thought.
She would miss her illusions, after all, that is what she feeds from during her whole life. Doing things that she shouldn't do is what her dreams are made of. But she does not feel regret, because it was for the well of her society. Her decisions of stop doing what she would have done by first impulses caused a happy and stable marriage, and children with a structured family. Although the silent pain never kept quiet en her soul, is still there waiting to meet her on the other side. -Probably- she tells to herself -I might find my illusions there- she still has the same faith as when she was thirty. She still believes that she might reach her unaccepted dream.
She looks back to her most important successes in her life, helping others; at least the most meaningful, those are the ones that still warm up her hart. Feeling others remembering others people's souls and gratitude. She gave herself deeply to many people, not in a warm and physical way, but with her presence, with her intelligence. She has the gift of dancing with souls, mix with them till you can not tell where is the beginning of her and the end of the others. She mixed with other souls due to the enjoyment of getting lost in them. Now she is waiting for the greatest blend to come. The one you only are admitted without body. This sounds to her like nakedness, like leaving behind the heaviness, to finally fly and get there, where they were waiting since then. The other exhausted lost souls.
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There is no life without admission of regret or without admission of guilt. But what a life without pursuing the dream. The life I live with the pain of hoping to dream when to cross to the other side is what is left. But can we turn the clock back or can we for just a moment in time live the dream. Dreams are the stuff men are made off. To live the dream is the hope of man and to die without pursuing the dream is the preserve of beasts,
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