2011

I was wandering trough badly lit corridors, each of them separated by a wooden or ironed door. These corridors were lined with tiles generally dark green and brown. The sides of the corridors were completely dark, as if I were walking between two rows of dense and tall black bushes, so it was impossible for me to tell how wide they were. There was a white light from above, and maybe also from where the doors were placed, but only when looked at from a long distance; it felt warm, but as sterile as nostalgia. There was also a watery feeling on the air coming from the sides.
The wooden doors were white or brown, and painted almost fresh. The ironed doors had very dark corrosion signs. As I advanced from door to door I felt this ever increasing anxiety inside of me. I felt I was continuously searching for something very important. So I crossed corridor after corridor, door after door, until I reached another white door. Yet this one opened to a corridor which was placed differently from the others. This one was crossing the one I was leaving like a 'T', and it had concrete walls painted in sea green. Also, now the space was lit by a lamp placed upon a small wooden table, above which was a large horizontal painting, possibly of a landscape. There were copper pipes along the wall and close to the floor; very clean and shiny copper tubes. It felt cozy and clean. It was the corridor of a restaurant, I could hear the combined voices of many conversations trough the wall. 
Dwelling this scenario were many young women, all of them skinny and pale, with rigid haircuts, blonde and black, and all of them wore black and gray fashion clothing and heavy red on their lips. They were crossing the corridor and didn't seem to notice me while I desperately tried to get their attention and ask them about that which I was looking for. Tension was rising as I grabbed the women by their arms, by their bags and clothes in hopes of getting an answer, but nothing happened, and the anxiety inside of me kept growing, as well as this overwhelming noise which deafened me until I could hear the crowd no more. The painting in front of me got bigger to the point I was able to enter it and find a small empty room made from old victorian bricks. Any light in that room came from the other side of the painting behind me, and now my senses were so much alert I could hear myself breathe in distress from the pounding of my heart inside my chest. Intuition told me to advance into the dark, I felt something was there, although impossible to identify. Suddenly there was a voice surrounding me, maybe it was my own: "and there it was…", it said, as slowly I advanced a little bit more, sustaining my breath "…my hurt!"
… .  .   .

I woke up immediately sitting down on my bed, still with the voice reverberating inside my head. I felt a profound sadness, and bent over my stomach like a worm. I tried to cry but no real tears came to my eyes. I lied down again and turned to the side to sleep again, wondering about the beauty of such dream.