Wednesday, February 22, 2012


I had a dream about you last night, dear Rudy. We were here in California, in our bed.

Wrapped around each other. Feet laced. Belly pressed against left side. Arms intertwined. Face melded into chest. Chin nuzzling crown.

Even breathing. Together. In tune.

We were happy, content, in love. In the dream, we were simply relaxed. Our love for each other spoken without a word.

Then I woke up. Found myself alone. In our big, king-sized bed. In California. Knowing you, too, were alone. In a king-sized bed. In Arkansas.

As I lay there, I thought about you. About me. About you and me. Our relationship. What we are going through. What we are missing. How we are making it work.

You've told me you've done the same thing. On many mornings. Thought about us. And have had the same kind of dreams while you sleep.

Is it possible we are connecting during the night? Feeling each other, through our thoughts? I would ponder yes, it is possible. Because that is who we are. The kind of relationship we have. A loyal, trusting one. Thinking of one another. That everything both of us does is done with the other in mind.

I miss you Rudy. I miss your warmth, your love. Yet, I know that eventually life will find us in the same bed again. At some time. Before long. When we can connect as a couple. As if there was no lapse in our days together. No lapse in our life together. In our bed. Wrapped around each other.


(contribution for Write on Wednesdays prompt: write a letter, to anyone)

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