The memories. The dreams. The ever-present reminders that he's not around.
I dreamt about him last night. Again. It was a bizarre dream - he had up and left and 'moved' to Europe for six months to take a class on vodka. And then he came back; I saw him at a party (where I was also showing off my new Harley Davidson logo tattoo), and heard through the grapevine that he was looking for a job. Just super weird stuff. Though I suppose of all spirits, vodka has probably been his drink of choice (with a splash of cranberry), I don't think I've ever actually seen him drink it. Bizarre.
And then at one point I went to his house - just walked in the side door where the laundry area is, and called Yogi, "Yogi Bear."
I finished another book tonight. The Best of Me by Nicholas Sparks. It's a story of love lost, and re-encountered twenty years down the road. But just reading the numerous love stories weaved throughout the book made me reminisce. First, a comment about the male protagonist, saying he was capable of loving only once in his life. And I started to wonder if that would be me.
Then, memories of my own. Making love for the first time in my life. Holding hands in the car. Walking on the beach on my last night in Jacksonville, him comparing my hair to the gorgeous sunset, both wishing the night wouldn't end. That same night, singing 'When You Say Nothing At All' along with the radio, but hoping his heart would realize I was singing it to him.
Every once in a while, I'll still say "we" or "us," referring to him, as if whomever I'm talking to should instinctively know who I mean. I was discussing wedding details with my sister today, chatting about the plans I had set in motion as if we were still getting married.
Every time my brain does this - thinks about him obsessively - I wonder if something is wrong. I am always drawn to the conclusion that something terrible must have happened to him, that he is in the hospital, and that no one will know. And a part of me, every time, is tempted.
Hell, tonight I was even tempted to go work on that afghan.
It's been just over a year, and I still feel like calling him when I'm really down. I had a 'daymare' of sorts today and envisioned my contact dropping down the sink. Immediately, I knew he would be the one I'd call to rescue it.
And so, speaking of rescuing, Kyle. If you ever decide you need rescuing from the poor life choices you are making / have made, I will be here. Because as much as I sometimes don't want to admit it, I still love you. And I think maybe I always will.