I was at Berne trainstation, at night. It looked slightly different. Bigger, wider, loftier. I wanted to catch a train, on track 13 (but I might be making this up just now), when almost out of nowhere there is a man. He stops me and tells me that I can't go that way. And that I shouldn't be here. I don't remember what I answered. Maybe I said 'oh?' He tells me to look that way - there are violent protests.
I don't remember against what they were protesting, but dreaming about it might have something to do with me having seen all the police people blocking off entries/exits of Berne trainstation in expectance of late night riots against the G8 meeting in Evian / Geneva.)
He takes me up to a terrace of sorts, to show me why I can't go that way. He points to track 13, and to the streets outside the station. There is tear gas smoke above the Bollwerk. I faintly wonder if Rebecca is working in the Reithalle tonight and am slightly worried about her. Still, the riots seem so far away, the smoke and the noise we hear seems so faint.
Despite the smoke in the air this is a lovely evening. We stand on the terrace and watch. And breathe in the fresh night's air. He is a gentle man. He seems very mature, old even, yet I know that he is young still.
He breaks the silence, bends his head to mine and says 'you smell nice.' He seems surprised at this. I smile. He then softly cuddles me, and I snuggle against his chest, and everything is so right.
And there we stand, and watch.
I wake up with a start - thunder and lightning (but no rain) have broken the spell and my sleep.
Even now, almost a day later, I remember him rather vividly. He is no man I have seen before. Yet, I hope that I will meet him one day. I'm sure I'd recognise him everywhere.