I still can’t figure out why I dreamt of her so vividly. Somewhere, some part of me wanted to say what I never did. For weeks after her messages I felt so angry, an anger I had never experienced before. I didn’t know who I was angry at. Her, me, or him. Maybe all of us, equally.
Moving on has always been difficult for me. I am, in fact, not able to move on. If I have ever been close with anyone, that closeness still remains in me, however small, even when it shouldn’t.
I haven’t dreamt of them recently.
When I walk past his street when I’m home, or when I drive by his house, a part of me always hopes that I’ll catch a glimpse of them. I want to see them briefly in a private moment, so I can have some image of them other than those I’ve created.
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