always carries a story—
a story meant to remind you
that you are on the journey of 1111.
My dear, were you born in the Year of the Tiger?
Why did you appear in my dream as a tiger—
a
white tiger,
beautiful, majestic, rare.
Wherever I went, you followed.
Suddenly I woke up.
In my heart, I felt it was you,
but I didn’t believe it.
I told myself:
the feline family represents femininity,
and I fell asleep again.
The dream continued.
I was in the tiger’s cave,
in its embrace—
gentle, playful, and magnanimous in presence.
A
constellation of signs telling me it was you.
The white fur was not purely white;
it carried a temperature of pale blue,
reminding me of
18
Never once did its claws emerge
from between those beautiful paws.
Look at your hands—
I always do,
especially when you write.
And so many more signs...
my heart wants that dream
in waking life,
in your face.
I am alive
for that day.