My Dream (a true story)

I had a dream last night, I don’t recall much, but here is what I do.

I sat on a long metal bench with my mother somewhere in what seems like an almost empty metro station. I sat on one side of the bench and she sat on the opposite. A man walked over and sat closely next to me, between me and my mother. He is tall and has dark blond hair and short facial hair. He is probably in his late thirties. I would discover that he is Russian. Another person walked over and offered to sell him a long Indian style bright pink dress and a long “chain” of small plastic packages of something (you know, those little packages that are all connected to each other, forming a long “chain”, and when you need to use one you just rip one off), speaking in Russian. The man bought them both. The seller then left. For some reason, I clearly remember the single Russian word that the seller spoke of the long chain of packages. It sounded like zdravstvuyte, the Russian word for hello, although slightly different. A while later, I imitated the seller and pronounced the word and asked the man next to me if I pronounced it correctly (I don’t speak a word of Russian). I don’t remember exactly what he said, but he patiently taught and explained to me for a long time about the Russian language. We talked for a long time, all while embracing each other. I pressed myself to his face and kissed him all over. His facial hair felt prickly and I’m not sure whether I enjoyed it or not, but I certainly enjoyed his fragrance, that sweet smell on his face. He never kissed me back but kept explaining the Russian language to me, but I can tell he liked it for some reason. I was barely listening to his lecture. It felt like I was in heaven, with my face pressed so close to his and my lips all over his face, lips, and those short, thin, needle-like, beard and moustache. And most importantly, that heavenly fragrance! It is not the smell of perfume or flowers or anything, and it’s not even a strong scent, but it draws me in so much that I can’t get enough of it. It felt like a drug, and as someone who has never had a single drop of alcohol or even held a cigarette in my life before, I instantly understood the feeling of being addicted. My mother sat on the other side of the bench through all of this, next to the man (with some distance between them), watching. I don’t remember what her reaction was about the whole thing, so whatever it is, it must have not been strong. I don’t know how long later, the man left. I wanted to ask for his number or something to contact him with, but there was nothing. I knew I was never going to see him again. He left behind the pink dress and his long chain of packages of something (I knew what it was at the moment but I can’t remember now). I think he left them there by accident, and not to give to me as a gift. I kept them anyways. I put on the pink dress. It isn’t my style or something I would ever buy on my own, but it fits me perfectly. I collected the chain of packages, and me and my mother left.

That is my dream, or rather what I remember of it anyways. I’ve never had a dream like that. Thinking about it brings a smile to my face. I miss that man, that man whose name I never knew, who doesn’t even exist in real life. I miss how he made me feel, with his embrace full of love and words full of knowledge. Most importantly, I miss the feel of his prickly facial hair on my skin and his breath of the most divine fragrance.