7.27.22. I dreamed about her again last night. It happens every couple of weeks. She’s always in my thoughts, of course. Not one day passes when I don’t wonder how her life is going. I mean, really going. All the day-to-day events that weave into the fabric of a person’s story, that’s what I miss. It’s not my choice that Im no longer privy to her time and energy. Ive made so many attempts to reconnect. One day, she will recognize that my love is unconditional, that the circumstances which brought us to this place were beyond my control, and that sacrifices, like love, comes in many forms.

The dreams- I hardly dream at all- but the ones in which she is a part- they seem to last all night and they’re all the same: a crowd of unrecognizable people. I search them, one by one, peering into the faces, looking for hers, in the hopes of catching a glimpse.

I miss her face. Ive memorized it, long ago. I know every freckle. On a “good” night, Im successful. I find her and it’s a hit of dopamine to the brain. I wake up and my heart is full.

Last night’s dream was slightly different. The crowd was dispersed throughout a cemetery. I wandered through the sea of people, searching faces for hers. No luck. I began to search the graves, checking the names on the headstones, searching, searching for any tangible proof of her existence- anything at all.

Even as I dreamed it, the analogy was quite obvious: Im in mourning. I feel her absence always and it often leaves me despondent, anxious that time is slipping away from us. It’s dramatic, I realize, but we all cope differently. Each of my days is colored with her absence, my loss. I sit in my pain with hopes that time and maturity will return her to me.

Until then, I dream. And, sometimes, the dreams prove good. Happiness takes many forms and each day we’re challenged to take the lemons life hands us and make them into something a little more palatable.