I woke this morning from a dream with you–so intense and passionate and disjointed. I wonder how often I do dream of you. I sleep as well as always when I sleep. You remember that?
It was so passionate, the feel of your mouth on me, you’re hands, your passion for me. Both of us so hungry for the other. But always getting interrupted–by your mom, by the boy, by friends. Till at last I couldn’t find you. You’d gone without telling me. You left me, alone.
Such a sad way to wake. Knowing you are gone. Wondering if you knew how important you are to me. Wondering about the interruptions. The past is the past unless we don’t learn from it. Then it becomes the future as well.
All my love.