#workingonit

"Would you know my name

Would it be the same

If I saw you in heaven"

I didn't know that he was dead when i dreamed of him that time... the first time...

That i remembered the dream for years afterwards down to specific details should have maybe prompted me to suspect something... but I have always been so evidence based in everything.

I even remembered the way he smelled. Just like he used to. Stonedust, sunshine, warmth, him.

The dream had been innocent enough.

It happened at a sculpture workshop. Running into him. He looked like he had that last time. Tall, real life strong, shirtless, his jeans stained with smudges of clay. His beard almost grey.

The moment i stepped in and noticed him there, he froze at his workbench his back to me. He turned around almost in slow motion. And simply stood there. Staring. Unbelieving.

I walked up to him and told him. "I came here only for you. Just for you."

I can still feel the warmth of his skin on mine from that embace. The softness of his beard. The smell of him. I always did. And will.

I had woken up that next morning at my mother's place, on a run from the past, starting anew from zero and i still remember that feeling of a great loss that came over me. I needed sleepingpills for weeks afterwards. Never knowing why. Not really. Until 8 years later.