First of all, Thanks to ProAzn administrator for this lovely thread all just for me hehe. *all mine, to do with whatever i wish* (JK you guys!) This is a similar story to Last Love. If you'd like to, you can both read each and tell me which one is better. To those who are familiar with my writing style, this is my first attempt at trying it out. So let me know AM/WF, masculine point of view. This takes place in late 1800s, so interracial marriages are forbidden.

Dreams of Never
A kiss. That is all. Words, to think, to be, to live. All that she wants, she will not get. I am not like her. I am not white. I am Asian, a male, from China. She needs me, I need her. Life is clear. “Where are you?” She says.

“In a dream,” I say.

“A dream?”

“Yes, the one where we fly away.”

She touches me. I kiss her. “Where to?”

Her lips were cold, rose scent spread, elusive glow that I could not touch. My hands slide down the silk sleeves, tight grip rests on her wrists. “All over the world.”

“Away from Pa?”

“Yes.”

She tears from my grip. “I want to go away, to grow wings, like an angel.”

“You are one.”

“No, not like my sister,”

I am quiet, seeing her eyes, her lips, and her body. “We will fly away,”

“A dream,”

“Yes.”

“A dream.” Repeat.

“A good dream.”

Peace. She walks fast, a sharp edge of a sword. Smell of an apple pie delays, and is wrapped around her. We ate it earlier. My pa left me alone, my brothers left with him. He took all the money we earned to a house of impure girls not far from us. When they left, she came inside with a pie and the two of us ate it at the same time.

It is still here, the smell, the taste of her lips flying faster than the scent of the pie. Full moon is a silver light, an orb I could see, and a feel of being trapped by walls.

I turn away from the moon, and see a table in front of me, an empty bowl far from my reach. That is where the men who do not have wives here with them eat and drink, tell tales of China and of their families; children, wife and parents. No one is here in this minute, only she and I. “Are you still dreaming?”

I came back from dreams and saw her again. “I am, when I am with you.”

She grins and sits by my side again. “You are always a dreamer, always think high.”

“You inspire it in me.”

She holds my hand, her fingers tracing my palm. She circles center of my palm with a nail. “Are we wed in your dream?”

“Now and forever.”

I watch her face change from joy to grief. “I want to marry you.”

“I do too.”

“We can’t though.”

I do not answer. I turn away, not liking to see her sad. My heart had torn in pieces, and along with her, I want to cry, yet I am still strong, values of valor, loyalty and honor holding me from expression of emotions. “I know.”

“I have to tell you something.”

I close my eyes, dreaming of things that I know will never be. “What is it?” I mumble, still flying through clouds, with her by my side, dressed in traditional red. We live in the clouds, angels close to us. My arm is around her; her slack body close to mine.

I sense she is no longer slack, but is tense, and she wants to flee. “My pa wants me to get married.” I can hear a crack in her voice. My dreams are gone. I am in this era, no longer in a different time.

“Married?”

She lets go of my hand and I see her hide her face beneath her hands. “I don’t want to marry him, I want to be your bride.”

She is crying, I can see her body shaking, and hear loud sobs from her. I want to tell her that everything will be okay, we will still have our dreams, but I cannot do it. I cannot lie to her. I touch her hand, feel the skin wet from salty tears. “Come on,” I beg her, on the verge of tears myself.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,”

My head lies against her hair, no longer able to retrieve into dreams of another time. “What should I do?” She asks. “I don’t want to be with him, I want to be with you.”

I don’t answer, just close my eyes again, breathing in, and then out, in, out, trying hard not to cry, not to let myself get lost into empty space. I feel her body is still shaking, and hear her crying. I lick my lips, and I curl my palm into hers. I feel salty tears smudging her hand, bonding us to one another. “I love you.”

Her body jerks harder and I can see that she tore her hands away from her face and looks up at the ceiling. I watch as salty rivers run down her cheeks. “I wish you would not say that.”

I don’t say a word.

“Its hard, I do not want to let you go, yet I have to.”

My heart plunges deeply, and I almost crush her thin hand with my own. I turn my attention away from her, not wanting to share the common grief between the two of us. Why does she have to leave me? “You have to marry him,” I finally respond.

“What?”

“You have to, I love you too much, I don’t want to make you sad. You and I both know you don’t have a future with me, with laws that do not allow races to unite. I love you, and always will. But I have to let you go.”

“Don’t, I don’t want you to let go of me.”

As if in pain, my hand tears away from her. I don’t turn around; I don’t want to see her face. She is lost to me, a dream that never was. I am crying inside, I am losing my love, never to have her return to me.

“You.” I stop, not knowing what to say.

“Please don’t do this,” she begs.

I start to cry, finally. She is my love, my only love. “I have to. I love you, that’s why I have to.”

Silk rustles, and when I turn around, she’s standing in front of me. I watch as she bends down, and takes my hands into hers. Our last night together, I think, our last time as lovers, dreaming events that can never be. I close my eyes, and kiss her for one last time, roses and salt strong on her lips. My hand brushes top of her hair, feeling its softness, finding strands inside the locks to play with. I gently rub them against my fingers, pressing her body closer to mine.

Tips of my fingers find her ears underneath her hair, and I sense how soft they are, and can bend to my will. I can feel her hands gently rubbing my hair, sometimes stopping and hold of the fingers is strong. I can’t let go of her, I think, still holding her tightly. How can I let this dream go? But somehow, I do. We stand up. She looks at me one last time, whispers thank you, and then opens the door.

I see her standing beside the door, gentle moonlight bathing her in strange silver glow. Nighttime insects chirp, mating, sweat forms inside my hands. I have to be brave, I tell myself, I have to stop crying. I cannot let her remember me the way I am now; I cannot let her have these last memories of me as a weak man.
She stands still, her hair every now and then moving. I could see tears in her eyes, and see her chest rising and falling. She doesn’t want to leave me, I think. I don’t want to leave her, why then must we be torn? Why must I be the sun, and she the moon, our paths never crossing?

Beyond her I see vastness of the field, the darkness swallowing up the gentle flowers. I lick my lips, and almost with force wipe my tears away from my eyes.

“Goodbye,” she called out. “Goodbye my love.”

The scent of apple pie is gone.

I saw her leave slowly, closing the door on my heart.

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Once you go Asian, you'll never go caucasian