I had two dreams the other night. The first one was a war. Almost everyone were gone after we had turned on each other. The horror, the aggression, the blood thirst – the entire human species lost to a massive wave of ... what, excactly? I woke up with the worst feeling in my body, crying for the loss of my children and loved ones. I felt afraid, I felt so afraid. But what scared me the most was how real it all seemed. How... logical.
And then I slept on. The second dream was different. I met a swan. She came towards me, almost like she was asking for my permission, or I was asking for hers. She wanted me to lift her up, and so I did. Her long neck curled up on mine, her infinite whiteness pressed against my chest. And so I started walking. With this warm, big creature in my arms I walked and I walked, I walked us both into a rhythm where swans and humans were no longer important, where eons of separation fell to the ground behind us like fallen soldiers, where the intimate communion we once knew could take its first yearning breath after a long, long winter sleep. I felt her breath. She felt mine. I felt her heart. She felt mine.
At the end, I watched her go. But I feel her breath. I feel her heart. And I hope she still feels mine.