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Description: I hear the clock tick and think of you w4m I dreamed about you last night and I woke up feeling faraway and melancholy. In true dream-logic style, it made perfect sense that I lived above a bodega at a train station in Texas, and you'd driven six hours just for kicks one day and happened to run into me at a park.

The last time I dreamed about you, maybe a year ago, I dreamed about traveling by Rollerblade to visit you in prison your crime was never disclosed, in that dream ; in this one, I was remembering that visit as the last time I'd seen you. You looked different. Unrecognizable, physiy. You were shorter than I was, which confused me a great deal. But we started to talk.

A casual touch of the hand, a kiss on the cheek, a kiss, and it all came back. It didn't matter; I realized it had never mattered; what mattered was that thing I say I don't believe in, that thing I guess everyone s a soul. And it was obvious when I awoke. I mean, sometimes dreams are obvious. Obviously you'd be different now, although I doubt you've lost a foot of height. You might even be unrecognizable. You're certainly a different person than I knew by now.

I'm different too. I'd hope we're both a little healthier, maybe a little less broken, though I wouldn't place any bets to that effect. But you change the package, change the details, change the environment all you want, and you can't change that The soul, I guess I'm going to it. I'm sure you're entirely different. But I'm also sure you're the same, that whatever unbroken part of me connected with the unbroken part of you and felt good about it is the same. I'm still sure that something special happened, something I haven't been able to sever.

I never had the chance to fall out of love with you. I remember you telling me, once, about a dream you had about a beautiful girl with my face in a bookstore who was important to you. I remember you telling me you missed feeling my hair on your face while we slept. I remember you asking my best friend for permission to be with me. Maybe it was all a trick of the light, smoke and mirrors, an illusion I wanted to believe.

Maybe I'm remembering it all wrong. Maybe I just caught you on an upswing and when things crashed again, I got tossed out with everything else. Maybe I'm foolish, or naive, or gullible, or hopeless. But I don't believe those things. I believe you loved me, and I wish I could understand how we grew so far apart so fast. I saw this couple one day who reminded me of us. Not that there was ever really an "us," exactly. But he reminded me of you, and she reminded me of me. They were a little older than we are, or at least they looked it. You could tell they both drank too much, they fought too much, and their lives had been too hard for too long.

They looked weather-beaten and worn down; they looked tired and sick. But they loved each other. They leaned on each other. Tiny familiar touches, glances, whispers. They were a team, united against whatever horrible manner of bullshit the world had seen fit to throw their way. And watching them made me understand, for the first time, that we might very well have destroyed each other; the road to the seventh circle of hell is obviously paved with good intentions.

I don't know, really, what I understood, except that we were both kind of fucked when we met and fuckery loves fuckery, but two fucked-up people are pretty much always going to have a fucked-up journey through life together.

So I came to believe, finally, that it was probably all for the best. That at least, if we weren't holding each other back, maybe we could both be happy. And I am happy, mostly. But my god , I loved you, you know? You felt like home to me, more than anyone or any place ever has -- before or since -- and that's the feeling I'm sitting with now, that's the source of this maudlin melancholy. I'm way more than 88 miles away from you these days, but I promise: If life should ever place you in my path again, I'll stop everything just to smile at you one more time.

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