It was strange to have thought of you late at night, lying on my bed, when I'm supposed to be counting sheeps.  You were a stray thought.  From out of nowhere I was suddenly thinking of you.

Of what had happened.  Like creating a linear thread of disjointed events.  A melody hummed from the beginning to the fade out.

Of what had gone wrong.  Time.  There was never enough of it and it seems there was never a right one.  Effort.  The meeting point, the halfway place that was never defined.  Priorities.  Everything seems to have come first and this was merely an option.

Of what had gone right.

Of what could have been.  It'd have been good, probably great.

It was strange to have thought of you last Sunday night.  Strange, because it's been quite a long time already.  There are hardly any traces of you in my life.  You were a once upon a time without the fairy tale ending.  An open-ended question that seemed rhetorical.  A story that ended without a resolution.  An ellipsis rather than a period.

You were the thought that strayed in my mind when I'm not supposed to be looking elsewhere.  The sliding door from something that feels old to a new adventure.  From a dead-end to a dirt road barely seen.

What would it be like to be on that dirt road with you?

My cellphone rang, I looked at the time before picking it up: 2:46AM.  I heard my Mom's voice on the other end.  Don't shave your head from now on, she said. 

Okay, I'm going to sleep now, I said.  I got back to counting sheeps.  And my thoughts, for days, have strayed ever since.