And so here we are
Lovers of lost dimensions
Burning supernovas of all sound and sight
Every touch, a temptation
And for every sense, a sensation

She splashes her face with the icy water, the chilly shock accomplishing its purpose of clearing most of the drowsiness from her mind. She wished she could just stay in bed all day, but she had things to do, however little she fancied doing them. She looked up to survey the state of her face in the mirror, and then stopped, fascinated. Instead of the reflection the mirror normally held, it had become a strange window to some other place. A young man, must be a few years older than her, stares at her from the other side, over a background of intricately patterned rock and glowing crystals. She looks at him as he gazes back in wonderment. He looks Japanese, like herself, long soft black hair cascades all around his head, giving him a slightly wild look. Yet what really sticks out are his eyes, two sparkling clear blue eyes, full of energy, shining almost with a light of their own. He reaches out a hand towards the window, and she feels compelled to act in kind, to touch hands with this stranger. When their fingertips meet, she thinks she can feel the pressure and warmth from his touch, but the image slips away, fades, at that moment. She wipes her eyes, surprised to find them damp, and splashes her face again.

He wakes with the image of her face engraved into his mind, this time not even the presence of the girl that lay beside him could banish that lost expression, those sad eyes, like burnt out sapphires with barely any shine left in them. He walked to the bathroom in a daze. Cold water. He needed to wake up, dispel this sense of unreality. It was just a dream.

He stopped. Was it? When he looked in the mirror, would she not be there? He paced up the carpeted floor, the path to his studio. She couldn’t be a dream, could she? Dreams were created by the mind, and he couldn’t just dream about her if he had never met her before, and he was sure he hadn’t. He hastily pulled out his sketchbook, flicking to the unused pages at the end. What had she tried to tell him? “Tasukete”? Japanese, it was Japanese. He strained to recall the unused language. He reached towards of a pencil with trembling hands. “Help”. That’s what it was, that’s what it meant, it fit, didn’t it? But why did she need help, his help? When he pressed the pencil to the paper he broke the point. Why did he feel he had to help her? What if she didn’t even exist? Was he going crazy? He threw the pencil away in anger. Calm down. He needed to calm down, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to do anything. Controlling himself he took another pencil and started working on the blank page. He had to do this, in case the memory of the dream slipped away. He couldn’t allow himself to forget her.

“Sakura!” a voice called her, with mild irritation, disrupting her wandering thoughts, “are you even listening?”

A girl stands in front of her, one hand holding a hanger with a top, which isn’t even going to suit her, she automatically notes, on it, the other in front of Sakura’s face, trying to get her attention. When the other girl catches her looking, she takes her hand back and sighs.

“You weren’t, were you?” she asks.

Sakura looks away, feigning interest in the line of clothes in front of her. “Sorry,” she answers.

The other girl manoeuvres herself in front of her, looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and worry. She has a pretty plain face, although not unattractive, maybe too plain, though, which is probably why it’s now crowned by artificially blonde hair. It doesn’t suit her at all, but no one’s getting her to believe that.

“What’s up with you these days?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” it’s the truth, she doesn’t know why she feels this way, this feeling of purposelessness, of emptiness, a loneliness so deep that she can be surrounded by people and still feel it.

“Oh, come on,” the other girl says, dismissively, as she tries in vain to look her in the eye, “is it… about a boy? Hm?”

It wasn’t intended as such, but the gaze she sends her could’ve frozen Hell. She recoiled, sending her arms up in sign of innocence.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. God forbid icy Sakura ever falling for someone, much less get a boyfriend.”

That one caught her off guard. “I’m not icy!” she bristled.

“I’m sorry, there must be another way to describe brushing off every boy that gets half an idea as a matter of course.”

“They’re just not looking for the same thing I am!”

The other girl looked very hard at her. “And what exactly are you looking for, Sakura?”

She stumbled. “I… don’t know,” she sighed, “I’m sorry, Ryoko, it seems I don’t know anything these days.”

Her friend’s face changed to one of compassion. “It’s okay, but do try to cheer up. Everyone’s worried about you”