a whole lot of maybes.

isnt it lonely here?

his voice pierces through the murkiness. i blink, and find myself standing. the room is empty, save for a bed and a nightstand. the spring sun's rays are light, like a caress. pleasant warmth against my skin. comforting, almost like someone pressing themselves against me, lending me their strength.

he stands in front of the door. figure softly shaded, eyes staring through me. it is not an accusatory glare, but neither is it a gentle gaze. it is rigidly neutral, and strangely understanding.

a sudden gust of wind makes the balcony windows rattle. startled, i jump, and he laughs. crinkly, warm overtones, with a hint of amusement. a friend, then. i smile and nod.

coffee? he walks assuredly into the kitchen. the cupboard doors creak open and shut, with the fresh, acidic smell of coffee beans swirling in its air. he glances back and gives me a smile. he knows its a pointless question.

he lays two cups on the kitchen table. i know you don't like them instant, so i bought them just for you. he murmurs, busying himself with teaspoons of sugar and servings of fresh milk. i move forward to help him, but he merely pauses for a second to point at the bed, before resuming his coffee-making. and so i sit there blinking, sour notes of arabica dancing on my nose, musing myself with... with what? no thoughts, head empty. i realise for the first time that i can't think properly here. wherever here is.

his face... his face looks familiar, but is strangely blurry. like a smear of wet paint across the periphery of my vision whenever i try to look in his direction. and when i try locking eyes with him, my vision falters. no, falter is the wrong word. his face just blips in and out of reality. thats all i know how to describe it. but not in a horror movie kind of way. i know i know him. from somewhere, forever ago. a familiar kind of warmth envelops me whenever we meet each other's gaze.

hasnt it been lonely?

there it is. that question again. he's stirring the cups now, his fingers agitating the surface in swift, rhythmic flicks. his eyes look inquisitively into mine. he already knows the answer. of course it has been. it always has been.

he breathes a sigh and walks over, quiet footfalls echoing lightly in this empty white space. i squint harder in an attempt to force his face into focus, but to no avail. there's something amiss about this place, and i can't even seem to remember how i came to be here at all, but it feels homely and safe. it reminds me of my very first room when i was just a child, with traces of happy innocence and blissful ignorance suffusing the space like stray, bioluminescent fireflies in the night.

the coffee cup is hot to the touch, and i wince as i take a sip. it tastes... familiar. not in the oh, i've drank this brew before kind of familiar, but something deeper, like i have lived through this entire scene of sipping this cuppa in a room so glaringly white and radiant that my eyes took more than a while to adjust to its glare kind of familiar. just like a reel of film ripped out of my repository of memories, almost as if i were existing in a permanent state of deja vu.