Sometimes I lie awake at night, my alertness spurred by a dream: A distant memory from long ago. I can't bear the thought of sleep but after a long while I can't stand to stare at the white ceiling. Before I can protest my own actions, I drift off to another place, a place far from here .
"Prussia?" I say quietly.
I lay sprawled on the soft grass, only wet from the day's earlier rain. From where I am lying, I can stare at the stars. As always I am amazed by how such beautiful things can exist in a world as cruel as this.
"Prussia?" I asked again.
A soft rustling in the grass next to me tells me he is listening. I turn my head away from the stars; my soft emerald eyes meet his deep crimson eyes. He notices me looking at him and smiles.
"I have a dream Hungary." He says, is voice no louder than a whisper.
"You have a dream." I repeat laughing.
Smirking, Prussia points towards the sky.
"Look at them, look at those stars." He orders his hand moving as if to captu
I would lay down to sleep at night; I would close my eyes and dream. It is the same dream every night; a beautiful but sad dream. I would be sitting at piano, a white piano, fingering the keys, playing forgotten notes; I would be daydreaming hitting keys making no real sound. But it feels to me like I used to play, play beautiful songs that I now have forgotten. I can feel hands on mine but they are not real they are ghost hands, a fleeting memory, guiding me to the notes I once knew. My face is full of wonder as the keys began to make a song; a song that I can't quite remember. Was it my song? The notes that I play are like a haunting memory; I can't stop because these gentle hands guide me. I can almost feel the warmth of someone behind me but I know no one is there.
On one key I pull back, the broken note reverberates through the quite room. On that strained note, in which continues to play in my ear, I pull my hands to my face. Tears began to fall on the silent keys, the warmth has