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Exhale… Let all the air escape your lungs—only to realize, suddenly, that you can breathe. Again. Deeply. Underwater. It feels natural, effortless, as if the water weighs nothing, and you inhale it like air.
For a fleeting moment, clarity strikes: this is a dream. The mirage crumbles, shattering into fragments, reshaping itself to carry you into a new world. A whirlwind of events where there’s no time to ponder their meaning. But this time, you’re cautious, recognizing the illusion with each passing moment.
And now, you’re at a family gathering. Familiar faces beam with joy, and you know each one. Happiness surges within you. It seems like a birthday celebration for someone dear, with everyone gathered in harmony. An idyll.
But as you glance at unfamiliar faces, realization dawns: these are mere semblances of your loved ones. The house, though familiar, isn’t the one you grew up in—only certain details spark faint recognition.
In that instant, everything freezes. The people in the room turn their gazes toward you—empty, distant, as if expecting something.
- Is this a dream? – I ask into the silence that engulfs the room.
- Yes.
- You’re not my family?
- No.
- Are you real?
- Yes.
I woke up.
Drenched in cold sweat, I lay in my bed. Dawn was breaking outside, and the soft patter of autumn rain whispered against the roof, trickling in rivulets into the pond in our yard. Glancing at the clock, I saw I’d woken two minutes before the alarm.
Right on time, I thought with a faint smile.
I canceled the alarm but had no desire to climb out of the warm bed. Nor did I want to fall back asleep in a damp shirt. Carefully, I sat up, trying not to wake my beloved. She was still asleep, cocooned in the blanket, a gentle smile on her face suggesting her dreams were far kinder than mine.
Slipping into a fresh, dry shirt and pulling on pants, I padded into the living room. Beyond the glass doors leading to the courtyard, two pairs of eyes stared at me. Marco and Polo, our cats, who’d spent the night wandering as usual, waited patiently for me to open the glass doors—a gateway between the cold, damp autumn and the warmth of the apartment.
I let them in. They were soaked to the tips of their tails. Polo grumbled loudly, as if complaining about the weather. Marco simply rubbed against my leg, leaping toward my hand, demanding affection. Naturally, they needed to be fed immediately. Only then could I tend to my usual morning routine.
A few minutes later, I sat at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in hand, staring thoughtfully at the gray November sky beyond the window.
What’s happening to me…
