We met again in my dreams where she danced between bamboo and fallen trees. A dream-like world where the shadows fell perfectly onto her skin. A milk-white with galaxies scattered across her nose and under her eyes. I swear I drank from her gaze and I swam betwixt her galaxies, but as soon as I closed my eyes to bask in the newfound tranquillity, she started to run away...

The girl and I were lost inside a forest of dark magic and haunted spirits. The constant echoes of voices long dead reminded us of our present moment, the one we were stuck in. But soon, she also became a distant voice that merely called my name, echoes reverberating through the hollows of my body. Was I awake or did I sleep through the magical moment in which I heard my name?

The bamboo forest was a figment of my imagination, something I merely dreamt about. I could not fathom the sound, the touch, the call of my name, as it became a calling, a poem I needed to understand and interpret; the meaning of the words hidden behind the girl's dream-like eyes which I did not have in front of me any longer.

I managed to wake up from the dream that I was stuck in. In my hand I held the leaves from the bamboo forest, I smelled her sweet smell, and I could still feel the fabric of her clothes which I briefly touched.

And yet, like an image burnt into my memory and my mind, I saw the girl looking up at the bamboo forest in which we were lost. I could see into her eyes again, forever lost in the labyrinths without the possibility of escaping.

It was on the cusp of our anniversary, riding on the back of our engagement. The sun was setting over the lowveld/bushveld, and our last kiss was fresh on my lips. I drank her presence and I could not help but think how lucky I was.

I was a bit drunk on her being and I swallowed it with a sip of beer. The sun was touching her skin, and the moment was fleeting, almost disappearing with every second ticking.

And then she decided to run away, from me, from the dream, into the bamboo forest. There she hid from me, from her life, and from the dream I was having.

Did she know I was dreaming of her?

In the end, we need to wake up from our dreams. But I could smell the girl in the poem that I could not write, the girl I could not write.

She came closer in my dream, and I could almost touch her fingertips.

I hope you enjoyed this instalment of the girl I could not write, the longest series I have been carrying on, the one that never seems to end... But the one that has slowly been transitioning into a different form.

For now, happy photographing, and keep well!

All of the musings, writings, and meanderings are my own. The photographs are also my own, taken with my Nikon D300 and Tamron 300mm zoom lens or 50mm Nikkor lens.