We talked last night. Or, I should say this morning, to be more precise.
You knocked on my door in my dream, and I opened it to you being your same beautiful self. We talked about...something. I really can't remember and its not important. What mattered was that I was able to see you again. To hear your laugh, to ask your advice (you always gave the best advice) and to see your smile.
There were bizarre parts of the dream, of course-you had an obituary of someone else you carried with you. I don't remember who's it was, but it felt like it was your own. Odd, right?
And then there was the moment when I looked away from you. At that moment, I realized you were dead. I was talking to a dead woman. I looked back and your face was covered by a cloth. I asked you about your apartment; if you were still there and you said "Yes." And everything froze for me.
Suddenly I was back at your apartment- staring at the door. (It's been replaced now, but it was the old one I was looking at). I'll never forget seeing the scars on your door--you know the ones. The hatchet marks where the fire department broke down your door to find you, already gone.
You were Sleeping Beauty on the couch, only no prince could ever wake you.
I miss you, my friend. I hope you're not still home. I hope you're resting peacefully and happily, wherever you are. I'll see you in the sunshine and hear your laugh across the room.
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