I Was on the roof of a huge skyscraper. I was with a woman who could be my family, or rather in my group of friends. We were all middle class, and we were in New York City or some similar.
As we talked, on the roof took place a tremendous storm of rain and wind that shook the building structure, but was rather an earthquake which, after a great fussiness, he split the building half, as if it were a chalk, and we both looked at each other realizing that it was the end. It was a look stunned and senseless, faithless, because nobody is prepared for death and until the last moment think that is an absurd dream.
The noise was tremendous, violent, even painful at first, but then there was calm. This is the best part of the dream: the death was represented by sailing paper boats on still waters. I was one of those boats, my subjectivity emerging from one of them and looked around everyone else. I was horrified when discovered that I was dead.
Afterwards, the return to my middle-classed friends in his great buildings. They saw me, but payed no attention on me, I couldn't even reveal my identity. Everything was an attempt to give them advice through hints to make better of their lives. I, as a non-existent, was unable to love, and this gave me a deep melancholy.
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