We are in some sort of a warehouse. She is walking ahead of me. Maintaining her distance.
There is something wrong. I have made her unhappy.
Without warning, unexpectedly, she breaks into a run. I attempt to catch her up but she is too quick for me.
“Wait!” I shout out desperately.
She spins round, still running, with her eyes reddened and damp with tears and shouts: “It’s too late.”
She disappears out of view.
I make my way to the railway station. I see her there on the platform. Her back is to me, but I know it is her. I recognise her long, full and wavy chestnut hair, the familiar blue jacket, and her jeans.
I feel a little relieved.
I approach her from behind and when I am close enough I softly whisper her name.
She turns and it takes me a second to realise that it is not her. The woman, who looks as though she could be foreign, effects a puzzled expression and says nothing.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
I feel momentarily uncomfortable, foolish, before I take a step back and begin to cry. I realise, chillingly, that I have lost her. Lost her for ever.
The light is subdued, pearly, and I am in bed. I feel anxious - the dream has disturbed me. She is next to me, lying on her side with the top half of her pale and lightly freckled back, not quite covered by the duvet, facing me. Her long brown hair, with just a hint of red, flows over the pillows and covers. She is breathing heavily and rhythmically and I wonder what she is dreaming about. I gently place my right arm over her shoulder, draw myself close and then kiss her on her head. I do not intend to rouse her but she stirs nevertheless and queries drowsily: “You okay?”
“I dreamt I lost you.”
She shuffles round, reassuringly cradles my face between her warm hands, and quietly says: “I will never leave you. I love you my darling.”