untitled continued, #5: Desire, quite different from the one in Gaiman’s imagination, was someone.
She breathed and lived and did things a normal girl would do. And she felt. It was her very nature, one that is governed by things immeasurable and incomprehensible. At times she scared even herself.
I remembered. I still sat where I remember sitting, I still heard the same sounds. But something was different. She’s here.
She was chasing me and I ran. I ran until I couldn’t, until she finally caught up and said, “You can’t run from me forever, miss. I have something for you.†She delivered a package. A package, for me? I didn’t think anyone even knows me. “Yes, it’s for you. Go ahead and open it.â€
The wrapper was a bit worn out presumably because of all the chasing. I was battling between opening it and keeping it as it is until I was alone. But curiosity got the best of me and I tore open the wrapper (which was quite ordinary in nature) and stood awestruck at the thing before me. It was she who stopped me reverie.
“It’s for you miss. You wished for it.†And with those words, she left me in peace. It wouldn’t be the last time that I will see her.
I could not, for the life of me, recall when and where I wished for such a thing. Maybe somebody remembered my birthday and sent me a gift. But surely that someone is important. The gift could not have been bought at any price imaginable. A note accompanied the gift. It read:
“For you. Accept my gift as a sign of my steadfast love.â€
It was signed with a name that was familiar but I could not recognize.
