Singing (a dream)

Jumping on a train roof of a dark red train I knew I had to get back at him. He was the man who murdered me and I was a female teenager, approximately 15 years of age. Against the rushing wind I kept on crawling until I reached the coach he was in. 

On the side of the carriage was a leather strap on either side I could hook my hands in to not fall off. Spreading my legs as far apart as I could, I tried to keep my balance but was occassionally swept to my right, barely hanging on to one leather strap, making my way back up on top. 

Giggling at the thought of the man in the train thinking he was going crazy as I sang a song he knew me to sing when I was still alive, thinking he couldn't get me out of my head. But I wasn't dead. Or was I?

Unsure if I was dead or alive, I started singing anyway.

I love him (a dream)

My son's mother was talking to herself. Literally as two versions of her talked to eachother, sitting in chairs opposite of one another. On the left was the confused and scared psychiatric patient: pale face, wispy hair, crouched with her feet on the chair, dressed in a hospital gown, white with blue dots. Her few years younger or older version - blue t-shirt, combed hair and aubergine coloured trousers - but without severe psychosis.

The latter asking her scared self to finally 'get it out'. Moved to tears she told of a daughter ('Last I know she was in her last year of High School'. Ed. Specifically '5 VWO' in Dutch) before she turned to me, present in a corner of the room: 'I forgive myself. Will you tell our son I love him?'