Dream of a City

Side Note:

One day a man dreamed he was a city. He felt like as if his body, consisting of roofs and walls, palaces and churches, columns and trees, was washed by rains and warmed by the sun; Somebody’s aspirations and hopes were streaming through its roads; Streets were lit by someone’s joy flowing down from open windows; Someone’s despair was stuck in the indifference of closed doors.

The man dreamed that the city unable to escape the stupefying fog of memories of its long gone glory, plunged into a heavy sleep. However, translucent remembrances passing gracefully before his eyes were overshadowed by the realization of a disquieting fact. In distinction from a well-known fairy tale, this luscious dream could only be interrupted by a storm.

Awakened, the man couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he was still looking at people around him with a distant eye of a lamppost. An ancient doubt, like a crack on the mirror, distorted his inner self: “Am I a man who dreamed he is a city, or am I a city that now dreams it is a man?”