I had a dream about Ian one night. I didn’t remember that until I was on my way home from work for lunch the next day, then my mind flashed back to an image. I didn’t remember any details, but that we hugged and he was there. That was a month ago. That next day, I wrote this:
I’m so torn as to whether I’m glad I had it or not. On the one hand, I remember the feeling, and I love it. I love having felt like I was happy and HOME again. But on the other hand, it wasn’t real, and never will be again.
As I’m getting more used to this, as it’s becoming standard that he’s gone, I keep thinking that the amount I miss him will lessen some. It hasn’t. I still think of him constantly. I still wish I could text him. Hug him.
I’m at a loss for words. I miss him. That’s all I keep thinking, and there’s nothing more eloquent or elucidating that will come.
“If language were liquid, it would be rushing in. Instead here we are. In a silence more eloquent than any word could ever be.” -Suzanne Vega Language
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