Dreaming

I still dream about him. It’s always the same, variations on a theme.

I walk into a room, a laboratory, backstage of a large roadhouse – and he’s there – looking like he did back then, with the same cheshire cat grin, but it’s completely genuine.

“How are you, Simonne?”

A calm and friendly demeanor permeates him. We always sit and chat, like we’re old friends. I can’t always remember what we talk about upon waking from the dream, but most of it is catching up on life over a very pleasant conversation.

It’s a good dream. I love these sorts of dreams where I connect with people I’m disconnected from in real life.

I never wanted to see or hear from him again after we met up to have an autopsy of our relationship. It was a roller coaster at best, with questionable maintenance practices and numerous safety concerns. I was able to get the closure I needed and he’s kept the promise of not contacting me. I am grateful.

Enough time has passed that if we were to run into each other in an airport, I would love to catch up with him – but I would never seek this out. It would all have to happen by chance. I have no interest in dredging up the past unless it presents itself without any help from me.

Still, I relish these dreams.

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