On dreams

‘Do you dream in color?’ he asked, after ten minutes of silence.

‘Sometimes,’ I replied.

‘You actually remember all your dreams?’

‘No, I write them down, the ones worth remembering.’

‘How do you know which ones are worthy?’

‘I’ve been dreaming all my life. I know.’

‘What’s the scariest dream you’ve ever had?’ he asked.

‘I heard a scream and I knew my sister had died. I looked at my father’s face and I knew that he had also understood.’

‘So what happened afterwards?’

‘Nothing. That was it.’

‘That’s horrible,’ he said and looked away.

‘What was yours?’ I asked.

‘I dreamt that I had lost my legs.’

‘In an accident?’

‘I don’t know, I just saw myself in the mirror and I had no legs.’

‘What do you think it meant?’

‘Why does it have to mean anything?’

Every dream means something. It’s all part of your unconscious. Maybe at that time in your life you were going nowhere.’

‘Isn’t that a bit too straightforward?’

‘So you’re OK with it meaning nothing, but God forbid it should be predictable.’

‘OK fine,’ he laughed. ‘Maybe it was because of a movie I had seen days before.’

‘How original!’

‘I don’t know. Shut up.’

Silence again.

‘Have you ever dreamt of me?’ he finally asked.

‘Sure I have.’

‘And?’

‘It felt anxious. I was trying to find you most of the time. There was a lot of water. Dark, blue water.’

‘Did you write it down, the dream?’

‘No.’

‘So I was unworthy.’

‘No, I was just sure I wouldn’t forget.’

He looked at me as if realizing something for the first time.

‘Did you find me?’

‘No. We were only together once, in the middle.’

‘Why do you think that is?’

‘It was never meant to end.’

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