Edit: Thanks to intensity i would like to present a revised version of Dreaming. I fixed the flow, wording, and other things i noticed to be a bit... confusing. i wanted to thank intensity so much for helping me figure out what was missing from the story. and I think there may be more chapters to come, i haven't yet decided. i will let the reviewers make up my miind : ) thanks again.
And to rmzucker i attepmted to continue this, and it worked. as for revising this chapter, again, it was har, but i tried my best. And because i am finishing this, i'd love to dedicate it to you. Thanks so much.

Dreaming.

I don’t remember. I can’t recall a thing they said, or whether the voice belonged to a man or a woman. The only thing I can recall is the gentleness of the words. It was a calm voice, telling me something that made my heart melt away.

Melting my heart, just as snow did in the spring, giving everything a new outlook, something to look forward to. And still, they spoke, on and on. Spring never left my mind, through the words, all I could think about was the flowers, bees, and all the plants sprouting a new. They’d all come back more vibrant, more colorful then before. Snow would only feed colors, leaving everything to mesmerize my eyes.

What made me think of all these colors and lights? Nothing could come into my mind, only the smell of the cherry blossoms that were beginning to bloom outside my window.

And once I woke up from the dream, more and more would become clear to me. Only one thing was left unsaid, the name. The voice. Still unknown and never to be understood.

Even explaining it was difficult, with no face to relate to, with no words to describe it to, without the name of whoever told me the sun would always shine; I would live the life of a peasant. A peasant woman who would live in fear and confusion because the snow would never melt fast enough, never allowing spring to come forth.

“Angels,” the voice would say to me on occasion. Angels that would bring me to sleep and permit my body to rise once more in the morning, right before the sun would cut the horizon. Leaving the sky shades of blue, purple, pink, and grey. Combining together to create the most magical illusion in the sky, dragging me outside, running, faster and faster. Wanting the tranquil vision to never leave me, as the voice had done.

My eyes, they are drained of life now. Leaving it all to my memory, a memory that I can’t recollect the thoughts of the night before, when the dreams I had seemed to be real. Were they real? Just a memory of a child who had been lost to the world? I shall never know the truth. But, there is the feeling inside of me, not wanting to know what really happened when I was a young child.

I will be stuck in this life I live, never letting myself remember. What will come of remembering? Only more pain and confusion. Wanting to know why they left and where they have gone.

Falling asleep, the face is still a blur, but the voice, it was so tender, loving. Whatever happened to me that caused such a great pain?

The voice, that’s who it was a man, a man of my childhood. He would comfort me so when I was a child, tucking me in my bed sheets, telling me to never let go. All the consolation has disappeared now. Nothing now but memories, and dreams of the faceless man, a heartless mister stains my mind, not letting me forgot why. But still, the uncertainty of the love, it remains here, haunting me once the sun rises and I open my eyes.

The calm and clear voice, it had left me so long ago. With it, the tenderness I grew to love. Now, even the dreams have gone, leaving me alone. I grew to love the man, the spring, even the snow, a second time, and it abandoned me. But, that’s nothing new. I know nothing will ever change, just a lonely woman, living on the streets, this time, without a comfort zone. There are no more dreams that give me a reason to look forward to the sun’s rays, only pity upon myself for I shall never again see the light of day.

Who was the man? I shall never know. Why did he leave me, poor lost and forgotten? I shall never understand why. But, until I remember, I will be here, on the streets of London, watching the people walk by, curious as to the man, and if he should ever come back.