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Found 154 dreams containing hello - Page 6


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Basically I had a dream that I had a flat with; Fraser who's ok (has the biggest room) Robert Potts called Potts (massive rugby guy lives in a closest that's only big enough for a bed) And under a pile of what I thought was just junk was Hannah sleeping It gets weirder I slept in the second biggest room but I was in someone else's flat after a party So I get to my flat and there's a cute girl outside So I say hello she seemed to act a bit off like who are you so I say one minute let myself in and close the door, I run to my room and grab a kiddies book and go to the door like hello I was just reading XP And she was standing against the door but in the flat. And I was like hello a little startled And she said where's Fraser? I sad oh :( in his room And at that point I realised Hannah was sleeping were she was sleeping And then realised it was a TV show being filmed by cameras Then kinda woke up

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Hello, my husband was shot/or suicide few months ago... i often dream of him ... last night i dreamt that i went to his grave with his friends, but he was among his friends and looking at me with a weird look . then we went somewhere he was there too, his head injury was cured and i got surprised that he is ok,then remembered that already 4 months passed...i was happy he was alive ... then he kissed a girl and told her that he wants to do sex with her in the new house ... i was mad and asked him what are you talking ? he told what's wrong with that ? then we are somewhere else a girl(a dirty girl) whom he knew when he was alive was there also visiting him... i'm mad that she's there and called her whore ... he told me that she took $100 from him and that's why she came there no other thing between them. ... she then changed her clothes infront of us laughing .... i was so annoyed with the dream ... please help me if it has a meaning

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I was traveling through the Middle East, a rare sight of a woman alone with her children. Everywhere we went, small children with large, dark, haunted eyes would watch my son and daughter as they laughed easily, teased each other and tried to talk to one another in Arabic from a small red phrasebook. One day we sat on a hot, dusty, crowded train. As the vista flashed by outside the window, a young boy, close to the same age as my son, sat across from us with his father. He watched quietly, seriously, as my children giggled, poked at one another and pointed out goats, mountains and beautiful rolling dunes awash in browns, soft pinks and ochers. My daughter turned to the boy and spoke a short phrase to him - "Hello; how are you?" - and suddenly he smiled, huge brown eyes lighting up and his face transformed into that of a beautiful and carefree young man. He began to answer when his father, eyes flashing, gave him a sharp reprimand in the universal language that every parent understands, the tone conveying words I understood in a language I could not. The boy cast his eyes downward. I looked at the man and attempted his language. "I'm sorry and it is not my business yet...why is it not alright for our children to speak with one another?" He looked at me and, with a small sigh, said "Our children are not the same." I said, "We are not wealthy people; you have no reason to dislike us." He barked a short laugh and said, "You, wealthy? You have riches. We -" he pointed at his breast, "we have wealth. We have the wealth that comes from true knowledge of our Creator, of our thousands of years of history, of our struggles. Of our losses. Of our families, of our heritage, of our culture. Your children have riches. Riches of the promise of a future. My son has wealth. But the promise of a future...?" He raised his arms heavenward in a fatalistic gesture and slowly turned his head to look out the window of the train. His proud face looked resigned yet strangely at peace. I woke up with tears running down my face.

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