I wasn't ready, Babes .. in 2023

I dreamt about you last night.

I’ve been hoping and begging and pleading for you to come to me in my dreams and you did … and I wasn’t ready.

I’ve been weeping all morning. Off and on .. like before. The tears just fall, I don’t even notice them.

The harder I try to remember, the less I remember. I just know you were with me, all night. Shouldn’t I feel better? That you came and stayed the night with me?

I don’t.

I rolled over to cuddle you as I woke and you weren’t there. This isn’t our bed. Our room. Our home.

I had myself convinced that when I left our apartment, our city, our province, our memories that it would be like flipping a switch .. the grief would be gone .. the pain, the heartache, it wouldn’t hurt anymore .. all I had to do was pull up my socks and start fresh somewhere else.

But it hurts, Babes. It hurts so bad and I’m so scared of disappointing everyone by not healing here either.

This is what they say you want for me. You would want me to be happy. To thrive. To live .. for both of us. That’s what they say. That’s what everyone says. That’s even what other widows say.

Why are they able to let go .. and I’m not?

I miss you so much. Fuck Babes I miss you. You’re even here with me and I just miss you more. Come back to me. Please. Every night. Every fucking night come back to me .. please.