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My head was on the pillow and I counted the days I hadn’t seen you. That day I thought, “Maybe this is only my path. If so, I have no right to involve anyone.” In a moment, deep grief rushed in like a wave and pulled me away, as if into another world. I was no longer in the bedroom. I found myself on a sloped stone street with old houses, heavy doors, and small windows. I walked uphill as if in another body. I couldn’t see the sea, but I felt it close and knew where I was going. At the top stood a two-story house with a few steps and a solid wooden door. Inside, a wooden staircase. Second floor, second door on the left. A room with a large wooden chair in the center. You were there, wearing a white shirt with wide sleeves. I ran to you, laid my head on your chest, in your arms—boundless peace. Suddenly I was pulled back. My head was on the pillow, yet I still felt your chest. I don’t know if it was a dream or something else, when imagination and reality dissolved. I was no longer sad or longing. Maybe I live my life in my sleep.

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