Autumn

Meetings in dreams They meet in the same dream always on Thursdays after midnight, when the city falls asleep. And the thoughts that have been on a leash all day finally break and run, run somewhere far away, to unknown lands where our soul exists. And everyone has their own dream, and the soul wants its own. The two of them only met in dreams. And always in the same place, in the snow-covered forest, among the trees that stretch their branches to the sky, where there are only firs and pines, where the snow never stops, and the snowdrifts are waist-deep, where the air is fresh and clean, that the lungs sting, and the sun never rises, where the moon always shines on them the path. They always met in the same place, looking at each other and realizing that they had lived another crappy day just for this, just for the dream. And they ran to each other, and then they hugged each other tightly, breathing in each other’s fragrance, and feeling that they were letting go of all their worries and worries, that this was the place that people were always looking for. A place where your soul sings and your body relaxes. They hold each other for five minutes, maybe ten, until they realize that sleep doesn’t last forever. And then he takes her hand and pulls her along. He’s wearing a black turtleneck with simple pants, and she’s wearing a red silk dress. They run barefoot through the snow, shaking their heads from the snowflakes. And they’re not cold at all. They feel good. They run along a familiar route. Running out of the forest into a huge snow-covered lavender field, they run through the bushes to the ruined castle, looking at the shop windows and inventing different stories about the people who lived here. And then he throws snowballs at her until she gives up and raises her hands. And when she admits that she is defeated, he comes closer, grabs a snowball by the scruff of the neck, and watches with childish anger as she runs away again into the depths of the forest, where they will find shelter for their souls. They run for kilometers. Once again in the forest, he catches up with her and knocks her into a snowdrift. She screams, but he doesn’t back down, holding her in his tight embrace. The snow is still falling on them, and the moon is still shining. He kisses her on the forehead. She smiles back and kisses him on the cheek. Their eyes meet, and their soul melts. And slowly everything disappears. Along with the snow, along with them, and along with the warmth. With a bitter smile, they wake up in their apartments again and again, promising that they will meet again — not in dreams. But when they come home, they always go to bed only to meet again in their dreams.