It has already been two times that I thought, “Hm, I want to show this place to him”. First time I was at the back seat of a car and started making a video to show it to my friend later. The second time was last night when I was walking in non-existing areas in my city: in the street, down the stairs, around 2 meters in width, through an arch that led to a corridor. And it sprang into my mind again, “I will show this place to him when he comes”. Because the arch was low and it made the entrance look cosy and in some way mystical, at the sides there were pale pink walls with somebody’s windows and above the small arch was sort of a white net in tiny squares ( like a gauze, but not a gauze) and I saw an old Georgian man passing behind it, willing to show somebody something. I think he was that type of an old man who likes to grow onions on a windowsill or have some greenery or whatever.

Before that I was in a “service centre” in an old decrepit building of wood and bricks, to where I was led by a disclaimer “run at a trot to the entrance next to the stairs”. Another stairs, not those I described before. There were, I think, three entrances. All similar, but I followed the instructions, entered and went to the second floor. After some fuss with my phone (they said it would cost around 200 hrn to fix the screen) I sat in the corner. It came out to be a very creative place. With musicians and other cool strangers. There were shelves, some musical instrument and tables near windows. Two windows I think. So they started singing a song in my language. I knew that song, but was too shy to sing along. In front of me sat a man, he glanced for a sec in my direction and I said, “What?”. He started smiling and telling me something that I couldn’t hear clearly, so I kept leaning towards and whispering, asking him to repeat. When the refrain was getting closer I rushed, bid a clumsy farewell to the man and started going down drawing on my clothes at the same time: tank top, black shirt and denim jacket. (I don’t wear denim jackets, by the way). When I was outside I looked back several times hoping he would walk after me and continue the conversation. But he didn’t.
So then I went to that arch place.
So…places. I can’t show them to my friend, unfortunately. Because they are only in my head. It is interesting whether somebody ever tried to order a delivery of a pizza to a friend that lives in another part of the world. I did, last week. Because I know he doesn’t care for buying enough food for himself and then has to eat peanuts at 3 a.m. while talking to me. Sorry, friend. Your rupees cost more than our hryvnias. And even if they didn’t, I didn’t figure out how to pay for a pizza from abroad.
Sometimes I don’t like myself because of my dreams, they make me feel uncomfortable. Sometimes I love feelings they bring. And I wake up and try to continue living in this subjective feeling, not letting my real subjective eat it.
I have always wanted there to be a device that could record our dreams, like films. Anyway, I remember them all. It only seems they are forgotten the next day, but at times I suddenly remember a dream I had years ago or not even a dream, but the feeling, atmosphere. Does it happen to you? That you do your routine and out of the blue you are engulfed by the feeling from your past dream?