I dreamed...
...that I had to pack my entire life up, and lost you trying to do it. You and I escaped from that loft where they were keeping us. You transmuted. We sat waiting for our turn to leave in a small dispatch room. You were getting over an awful sickness, but were single minded-about leaving. You had everything you wanted to take with you in one backpack, and had left everything else behind. I had only my small orange bag. I left you in that room, promising to be back soon with my stuff. I wandered through the vast, strikingly East German building I recognized as the Student Union. I came upon a storage room on the third floor. Everyone's bags were crammed in, rifled through. My mother came to help me sort my stuff out. I found an old suitcase, and in it, good, new bedding; pretty white lace and purple chiffon dresses; my father's old mechanical Nikon SLR; two beautiful worn leather belts; all inherited, none used by me. I wanted to take everything, but my mother refused. I whipped myself into a frenzy about fixating on small decisions, while you were waiting to leave with me in a room somewhere. I didn't know where to find that room. My mother and I looked everywhere, and finally found it in a deteriorating shack on the hillside. You had gone. Everyone had. My little orange bag sparkled silently in a corner. I sank. I tried to continue dreaming, so I could find you again, but it never works that way, does it?