I still dream about him. Bad dreams, they
were never good dreams before either. I’d like to think they were warnings…something
my brain knew but couldn’t digest. When I have these dreams, they push me into
the gravitational field of the black hole that’s at the center of my mind, the
area that I’m well adept at avoiding during conscious hours. Nothing left to do—except
wait for retrograde amnesia or Alzheimer’s to set in I suppose.
