While I was in Zagreb last week, I dreamt that I woke up in the middle of the night and that I saw smoke twirling all around me. I panicked at once. I sat up and I yelled at the top of my voice: “Fire!” That was the only word that came out of me. Only then I realized that I was dreaming about the smoke. My beloved woke up and started consoling me. And then she giggled, because I used the Croatian word for fire, which is vatra. “You always tell me that you dream only in English,” she explained her merriment. “Nah,” I hugged her, “not always!” The dream was so insignificant that I did not even think of recording it and adding it to my vast collection of dreams. So many days later, I am changing my mind. A dream is a dream, after all.