Little things

I never remember my dreams. Yet strangely enough, the one I just had lingered even after I opened my eyes.

I was underwater. You sliced the waters deftly, as if used to it, and stretched out a hand. It was an eerie feeling: you were in the skies, flying, and I was on top of a mountain, desolate. Except we were awash in green and water, like when one looks through a champagne bottle. There was a perverse silence as I waited for you; it did not matter that you were already in my line of vision. I felt that if my hand could not feel your clasping warmth, I had no use for seeing you. It felt like an awful long time.

The moment I gave you my hand, I flew up, up, up.

“You won’t believe where we are,” you said, as we broke through the waters to piercing cold air, and strange colored clouds. Massive mountains made out of seemingly smooth stone loomed bigger and bigger as we neared the shore. They cast black shadows on the green waters, a strange sun as a backlight. I felt an inexplicable peace. 

"Do you go here often?" I asked him, in between two breaths. It was funny, it felt like we swam for a long time, yet my lungs did not feel like they were about to burst. Or perhaps, more accurately, if the word accurately can be used in instances like this, I forgot the concept of lungs; I understood that this was natural, the two of us, swimming and swimming, endlessly. You were doing a swift backstroke. "You know this place," I heard you say. 

Yet somehow, we never reached the shore. I just woke up.