Curled up on my little couch, my eyes closed in contentment, my music player in my hand and earphones plugged in. No one else can hear what I'm hearing - it feels like being in another world, one where you can only enter through this medium.

It's your song, the one I'm listening to right now, do you know that?

When I'm with you, I'm lost for words
I don't know what to say ...

I hear your voice every single day. There's something about your voice that gives me a familiar feeling ... You make me feel at home, reassured, wherever I go.

A gust of wind lifts my hair; it feels comforting, yet playful at the same time. A sudden instinct spurs me; I sit bolt upright and move across to the window, my hand shades my eyes from the exceptionally bright rays of late afternoon sunlight.

I squint my eyes a little and look up at the clouds in the sky. Are you up there?

Those thin, layered clouds ... I could make out the entrance to a castle. Oh, and that's a pretty lady in a hat, the wisps of white form the lace of her dress.

But where are you?

I look down sadly and begin to wonder... I feel a strong connection to you, and there are so many of us, we all felt the same thing ... Are we all deluded, as outsiders see us ,because we are "fans"?

Have I been wrong? Have I created an illusion for myself? Is the connection between us, between all of us, a figment of my imagination, of all our imaginations? Are we blinded because of your occupation and your name?

Something tells me this isn't true.

Ah, your voice echoes in my mind.

Yes, I don't believe our world is built around governments and rules and constant advancement. There must be more. There has to be. On particular days, or perhaps simply one short second, I feel touched by something special ... almost sacred.

That peculiar feeling is tingling within me right now. I have hoped, I still do ... Just a glimpse of you would be enough for me. I turn around and stare at the opened door of my room.

"Please show yourself?" I plead softly at thin air.

Just a glimpse is enough.

Just this other night, I thought I heard you cry
Asking me to go, and hold you in my arms ...

I close my eyes. Stop, my Wild Imaginations. How selfish it is of me, to ask for an embrace in your arms. You have given so much to me, how could I ask for more?

I just want to see you, to know that you're okay.

Love means complete self-honesty. Ouch!

You have a way with people, don't you? Prodding me with the word 'self-honesty' in your writing?

Hmph.

I do have a crush on you - but oh, I certainly hope you'll never find out about this ... as you're a mentor and a brother to me, and ... especially, a friend I never had.

Occasionally, I wonder: I'm not unique... You're known all over the world, can I really have this bond, with you?

Love is love and it breaks all boundaries.

Blood, creed, race, color. Those are the boundaries you mentioned. Does love overcome the boundary between life and death?

No, death is a scientific word. Ah, afterlife. Now, that's better.

I open my eyes. You're standing right in front of me, at this moment, I know it. I just know ... I can feel it and tell.

Then ... why am I not overwhelmed with joy?

Without conscious thinking, I murmur the answer, "I can't see you."

You seem to be giving me a small smile. I sense a very slight pressure on my palm, and my arm raise involuntarily by millimetres.

Is your hand holding mine?

An invisible wall is separating us ... Opaque, stubborn, yet transparent to my eyes and non-existent to my surroundings. Perhaps if I just angle myself a bit to the left ...

No, I still can't see you.

I wish to flung myself into your arms, so badly and painfully ... Not as a lover, but as a child to a long-lost parent. I miss you. Please, please, just let me see you ...yet deep down, I know the truth is impossibility ...

"But you can feel it. You know I'm here," you say, patting the top of my head with your hand. At the same time, a gentle, feather-like breeze caresses my hair.