She had not yet met him. She had not yet gotten a chance to know him, yet she has already created a world with him in it. She found herself frequenting this world. Here, they were familiar with each other.
She was a mother. A world-maker. She creates multiple worlds where she lives multiple lives, multiple versions of herself, multiple revisions inspired by her realities.
One of her worlds is dedicated to the books she reads. This world continuously transforms according to what she’s reading. In this world, she meets her characters. In this world, her understanding is unparalleled, unafraid to dissect the persons of her characters, especially those she would not want to meet and be friends with in reality. In this world, she explores meaning, reason, and purpose. In this world, she is not only a reader. She is a seeker, an omnivorous scholar of life and the supernatural.
Her best world is the world where she is still with her mother. An intimate, joyful, and loving world where they are and continue to be inseparable. It is from this world where she draws the strength to continue, to carry on with her life in the real world.
But no matter the details of her worlds, reality always catches up with her. Following her. Disguising itself as a stranger in either of her worlds and sometimes, as part of nature, such as a dark cloud threatening a storm in her sun-filled blue skies. Reality remains to be inevitable, always powerful, inescapable.
So she is left with no other choice. She returns to the world where she knew no more pleasant hellos, only painful farewells. The world where an ever-present absence robbed the purpose of her life and the only love she acknowledged and knew. The world where she has to live through the pain. A welcomed pain that was now an equivalent to the loss of a love so great and so true. The world that still wanted her, somehow. This reality, she had to learn how to want it again. She has to, someday, still far away.