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Wednesday, March 10, 2010

She still visits me. She stops by in my dreams and we talk.

We hug, and she feels comfortable and comforting. I can still feel like I reach all the way around her body when we embrace, and I can smell her perfume as I lean into her shoulder.

We talk about how things used to be, and how things are. Sometimes our conversations are nonsense, and we laugh more than we talk. Other times we have more serious dialog, and I wake up confused about what she was trying to tell me.

My dreams help me remember her - I am so afraid that I will forget. I long to have her last voicemail on my phone back from my deleted folder - wanting to hear her say that she loves me over and over and over.

I don't want to forget how beautiful she was, and how her smile captivated strangers and reassured friends. Her style was effortless and she was relaxed in her own skin.

I don't want to forget how much she loved me.

And I never want to forget her humor. Always willing to be the comic relief, she often joked about herself, and she laughed easily and often. It was her laughter that drew people in, making her one of the most popular and loved people in her small Colorado town.

I desperately need to see her tonight; to relive and memorize all of the radiant and exquisite things about her. Maybe then the hurt will leave, the tears will stop, and I can make it one more day without her.


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