Dream therapy

I dreamed of you again, yet this time it was not you.

I walked through the ground floor of Queen Margaret’s hospital, a place I havent been for years, talking on the phone.
The line went dead.
Frustrating though it was, it was not a conversation I was engaged with.
I looked out of the ground floor window at the grass.
Why I was there I do not know.

My phone rings
I look down
Your name
Staring back
Hands shake
I answer
Hello?
No sound
Then crackles
Your mother
My heart
Breaks
Is that you
Yes its me
(I get her name wrong as always)
She
I
The line
Or her voice
Cracks
She
I

My heart beating like a drum wrenches me from sleep and I am faced with the realisation that this is not true, that call never came, but you vanished just as completely.