I'm a girl. This journal is almost 10 years old, when I started it, I called it Almost 21. Before that, I had a journal called Soap on a domain that no longer exists. Some things have changed since then, some things haven't. I always wanted to be a writer. I live out that dream here.
We'd get a house somewhere nice and picturesque, go for long walks holding hands, watch DVDs at night cuddled on the couch, have romantic candlelit dinners.
I'd ask him all the questions that I'd been thinking about -- there was so much I wanted to know about his life, his work, his shoulder. Maybe if we had time, he'd show me the base, and I could see where he ate, slept, watched Family Guy, and drank.
We'd have beers together at a pub, and have fun.
Lots of fun.
But the dreams were preliminary dreams, ones that I should not have had. Because though my last dream about him had been realized, so had its eventuality.
He was gone, leaving me with a wounded heart despite myself. Maybe he had seen what I had not wanted to, I would never know.
Sometimes I hoped that things would turn out differently, but in my heart, in the parts that ached and sank into my stomach, I knew that hope was in vain.
And at that time, the thought of letting go of my dreams, my memories with this guy I barely knew hurt me maybe more than they should. My heart felt heavy, yet with each passing day I was able to let go of it a little bit more.
I didn't think that we would see each other again. One day I would wake up and my dreams and memories would be gone, leaving behind the ghost of a man I once briefly adored.