Last night, we were back at that place again. That old school. I have dreamt this so many times now that I have lost the count of it all.
The walls were dark, old white curtains swaying in the cold evening wind. I hear you moving up the stairs, softly, walking tip toe like you were in hiding. It must have been winter for the floors felt like ice under my bare feet.
You never left, you were always there, in that house, at that time, every day. Like I could come as soon I needed you and I would be greeted. Did you live there perhaps? Live in the shadow of love, never telling a soul about the aching, the hurting, the pain.
You told me and I listened. I therefore visit you again and again in this place and we bask in the warmth of each other. Two lonely souls, a man and a woman, in that big corridor on the top of the stairs in the back of my head.