the morning he died, i dreamed of him. we were in an old concrete house with wide windows overlooking the china sea. his face was wan and his smile sad, but his eyes sparkled as he always did when he looked at me. in that dream he only said a few words. "i'm going now, goodbye."
i turned around but he was gone. i ran towards the corner but he wasn't there. i ran towards the darkness until i couldn't see anything anymore. and then i heard his voice, calling my name. i looked around and it was just darkness. he called me again, crystal clear in my mind and my ears. i opened my eyes to the darkness of the bedroom.
an hour later, as i stood in front of the bathroom mirror, suddenly remembering the dream, i heard a voice calling my name. he was in a time zone that is six hours ahead. my heart thumped and it made me uneasy. then the message came:
"he died this morning after a long battle with sclérose en plaque. i never told you because he made me promise not to tell you. but the other promise i will now break: he really loved you and had acknowledged his mistake - he wished he was with you."
What the heck is Monique doing these days?
beautifully told and perfect imagery
I feel this