I dreamt of him. I dreamt, knowing it was a dream. I told him he was dead, and he couldn't be in my dreams. He said he knew. He said he could only ever do it twice, but he had to see me. I said that he shouldn't be here. That didn't he have purgatory or something. He said he had penance to do. It was painful, but he did it, and that he could be there now. I told him that he was a dream, and that it couldn't be him. He said to ask him something he would know. I told him that it was my dream, so I'd already know the answer.
He just kissed me and held me and said that he missed me. He said he was happy that I seemed to be okay. I didn't dream that he was alive. It wasn't a Message From The Other Side about something grand and glorious, that he's happy. He just said that he's okay and that he misses me. And then we just stayed like that. A charmed period of time.
I dreamt and knew I dreamt. But it felt... different.
The hole is still there. I want to believe that he's there and looking out for me, just waiting. It's a nice thought. But the dream has stayed with me for days, still fresh in my mind.
As I move forward, I try to carry the scars with grace. I may not succeed, but I try. But that... I don't know. I miss him.