If you look outside the window on an early, frosty morning, the rays of the sun looking like molten gold feel rather comforting and warm. The cold air slicing your face, waking you up from a night of farther dreams and wild imaginations, is almost disappointingly enjoyable. You don’t want it, but you have to feel it, and when you do, you don’t want it to ever go. Whenever I open the window on a frosty morning, a wild range of emotions flow through me, as I stand in front of the window. Those few moments of bliss feels just like the sight of that person I dream of, whose face I’ve never seen and whose whereabouts I don’t know. I just know that she lives in my dreams. She blends in the tall dark trees at midnight, singing her deadly tunes, she captures prays with her hazel eyes, clad in a black felt gown, one look at her and all the lost moments find a way to collide and the hearts worlds apart reunite. But she is out of our reach, far in dreamland whose key belongs to me. Darkened by the midnight moon, her mind holds dirty lies, engraving the fact that age is just a number. If you see her, a fake number of 13 might drill in your minds, but she is 23 to me. Maybe she is just another one of the reflections I see and question everyday on my mirror, but she is the one in dreamland, the beautiful soul I adore, just a glimpse of childish dream to you, but to me, so much more.