I Had That Dream Again Last Night.

I never talk about Michael. I spent a year of my life convinced I had found the person I was going to marry, and now I am adamant about never letting his name pass through my lips.

People keep telling me how strong I’m being, how logical and clear-minded I seem. It seems to me as though people aren’t looking very clearly at the picture. I can’t even say the mans name because to say it would mean I was breathing life back into the cavernous, cold, crater that now exists square in the middle of my chest. If that part of me actually allowed anything other than numbness, I fear I wouldn’t be able to move on.

It’s only in my dreams, in the dark parts of my mind, that I find myself in the middle of a room, standing on a table, taking a deep breath and screaming his name. I scream it so loud that glass shatters, everyone falls down in pain, and the only person left standing is him. He is standing there with the same smile on his face, with lines around his mouth that I have memorized like a map, and never falls, because he never hears me.

I had that dream again last night. 

This time, there were two people standing. It was Michael, and the person who will inevitably replace me. I remember trying to jump off the table and run to him. There are so many things I wanted to tell him, so many apologies I wanted to make. I wanted to tell him that if he allowed me to do so, I would spend my whole life loving him the way he deserved, and no less. I wanted to tell him that real, meaningful love only comes a handful of times in a persons life (if we’re so lucky), and to not let this treasured gift slip through his fingers.

I wanted to tell him so many things, but I was stuck on the table, arms outstretched, unable to move.

As quick as I fell into this dream, I woke up, cleaned off my tear stained face and started my morning. As part of my morning cruise, I found myself stumbling across a picture taken only mere hours before. One of Michael dancing with a girl, looking like he was having the time of his life.

It hit me. He’s whole without me. His life has been made better with me cut out of it. I have found myself entangled in sweaty sheets with a friend who’s promised to be an anesthetic, but Michael feels everything with his whole heart and isn’t paralyzed by it.

Here I am, I’m wide awake, typing furiously, but I find myself still standing glued to the table. Michael will live his life and love somebody with every fiber of his being, so much so that he will think he’s going to burst. He has taken the knife, plunged it deep into his chest, broken his rib cage, torn through muscle, and has successfully cut me out of the place where I felt more at home than any structure with four walls could provide. He has, and will do all of these things, but so will I.

So yes, I’m still standing at the table, but now I find myself screaming something new. My arms are outreached in his direction, I’ve taken a deep breath and at a sonic level, I scream “how?”.