An Airborne Dream

In stoic composure the windscreen wipers sweep of the thick snowflakes that hypnotisingly hit the front window without respite. "Tick-tock, tick-tock", they seem to squeal, and with every white load that they push over the edge, I can feel seconds being taken away from me.

The flakes look sharp and icy, and the sound of the snow chains milling and groaning their way through the uphill serpentines is comforting while the fir tree tops slowly and delightfully devour the sun. The headlights gallantly take over the task of illumination and turn the white flurry into a flickering delusion.

I am muffled up on a window seat on a bus. It is a small vehicle and it grumbles in the manner of a diesel. The faces of my few fellow passengers are blurred and they seem to be sleeping peacefully. Beautifully and almost unnaturally arranged in their seats, like flowers in one of Monet's bouquets, they remain motionless and pastel against the glooming scenery behind the windows.

Eventually one of the faceless creatures on the other side of the aisle puts on familiar attributes and the mouth that starts speaking to me is yours. I know I know you inside out, and your sharp and familiar gaze hits me just as hard as the frozen crystals impinge on the glass. Your lips are moving, and I can tell that you clear your throat in between your mute syllables but the sound never makes it past your tongue. I watch remorse and discomfort flash through your face until finally your mouth lingers in a sad still and your iris begs my pardon.

I sit silently and lamed, and in horrified anticipation I observe the feeling that climbs up my spine while the sky is disgorging the frozen night. The lost seconds are given back to me and intensify the pain in slow motion. I didn't understand a word you said but I know that you have just broken my heart. This agony cannot be mistaken. It's brutality is unparalleled.

I close my eyes and I can hear and feel myself shattering in reflected hush, but before the emerging nausea can reach my throat, I open my eyes and find myself on a plane. My dizzy eyes catch sight of the propellers slowing to a stop while the other passengers are already getting ready to disembark.

In a daze and carrying the ache of a broken heart, I stumble over the airfield and wonder how you made it into my dream and why my brain asked you to stab a knife into my sleeping me. I don't really know you. You don't really know me.

On the backseat of the cab that is taking me back into town, I slowly come back to my senses and I wonder if some day we will sit next to each other in a bar filled with chatting voices and easy sound. We would sink into on old sofa that would be green and cushioned and nobody would notice us. And we would talk and drink red wine and share all the stories that we would have kept safely in our chests, and we would be calm and curious, and it would be of no importance if we would know each other the day after because all we would know would be the here and now.

"A dream is a succession of images, sounds or emotions that the mind experiences during sleep. The content and purpose of dreams are not fully understood."