This Isn’t a Poem, I Just Remember You

I had a dream this morning.

In the dream we were lying on a bed, facing each other and just holding hands. You were looking at me. Happy.
The feeling of holding your hand made me so deliriously happy.
I can’t find words to explain it, it was just like a big flower blooming in my chest.
It was like all of my lifetimes melting into one.
Your hand felt so good in mine. I ran my fingers over yours.
When I awoke, I could still feel how your hand felt. I laid there. I did not cry. I looked at my empty hand. I looked at my empty bed.
I went to the sink and I washed my hand very deliberately.
As I scrubbed, I thought of The Red Thread that is always connecting everyone that we have ever loved. Always there. Always invisible. Never to be broken.
I can’t ever wash you away.
I know that The Thread was tugging on my heart especially hard today. I wonder if it was tugging on your end, too.
I asked The Red Thread politely to stop pulling so hard, please. I told Thread that was so old but never frayed: thank you, I know you are there.

I went back to bed.


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