I dream about you. Twice in the last week. Usually about not being able to save you. About being terrified you would die. And then I wake up and remember...you did. A year ago on Friday.
I tell myself the dreams are normal. It's grief. It works that way. Still... I hate waking up. Dreaming is the only time I still get to see your face.
It's going to be a long, long life without you in it.
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