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My dreams are haunted by those places with long, narrow alleys that lead to other places that are similar in length and narrowness. Places where paths are twisted one over another like walking in a maze. The ends of their arteries flow into other paths that are similar in narrowness and twisting. I see its end from the beginning of my first steps on it. I recognize the last wall as a sign of the end, then suddenly I find a opening in a side opening that leads to another extension of it... and there is always a hand gripping my palm, and my arm is pulled upwards to connect my palm with the palm that is holding it with care and attention. I do not remember its features. Dreams do not clarify them, do not reveal them, and do not measure their length, width, or dimensions. All that is revealed to me from it is the feeling of its lightness, and that it is above in the heights, and I have to raise my head to see it... so I find myself only looking forward in search of endings and the desired arrival. In the dream, there is always the rustle of her cloak, her lower limbs fluttering, touching my legs, as we walk mysteriously, with an unknown goal, place, and fate.
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