You faked your own death this time. My psyche still doesn’t believe you’re really gone. Else, how could I live here without you?
You faked your own death this time. To become a spy in the military.. because who would ever believe that someone who is dead would actually still be alive… no one, that’s who… except 1% of 1% and who cares about those people? Most people accept the reality presented to them… I apparently don’t, at least, not subconsciously. I mean, after all, your funeral was closed casket… for all I know there could’ve been a guitar and a can of dip in there. Suicide doesn’t even sound like something you’d do. Not the you that I knew anyway. I fully believe that you’re gone. I guess what I’m saying is… I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to believe that you were so unhappy that you would take your own life.
In my dream you were a spy and I was angry. Your superior tried to get me to help him with a mission told me I was the only one who could help and I told him to fuck off. Then, he presented me with you as an incentive to help with the mission. He left us alone so we could catch up and so you could convince me to help. And I was angry. I was angry that you hurt so many people by doing something so selfish as pretending to die. Not only pretending to die but pretending to die by taking your own life. I angry-hugged you. Not that you can angry-hug someome but I hugged you hard. And started crying. Cause when someone you care about comes back from the dead, tears of relief immediately follow. At least they do in my dreams. You tried to kiss me. As hard as it was, I wouldn’t let you because I am hopelessly in love with my boyfriend. All the while you’re secretly bugging my house with tiny cameras and voice recorders. My house which was the house I lived in when I was in high school not my actual house which made me think the dream was in the past but it wasn’t set in the past, it was definitely present. We haven’t lived in that house since wayyyy before you did what you did. What was weird was that you’d never been in that house before yet you seemed so at home.
You left abruptly with no hope of me seeing you again. You’re a spy it’s not like you want people who know who you are knowing you’re alive. When you left I became sad and angry all over again. I immediately started ripping the bugs off of every place I could find them and collecting the pieces to take to my IT friend at work to see if I could trace them back to you. It was a stretch cause anyone that has the means to fake their own suicide could definitely obtain untraceable bugs, but in my mind it was a lead to you and I was taking it. I had pretty much collected all the bugs knowing where you’d been and where your superiors had been at my house and somehow I knew y’all were pissed I’d collected them. You sent my aunt Tammy to plant another one and I collected it too. I wanted you to be mad like I was. I wanted you back and I knew I wouldn’t get my way so tracking you down would keep me occupied.
I dont know why I can’t just let you go.
I wish I understood why I keep having dreams that you’re still alive. It’s like the universe playing a cruel trick on me. You died. No, I don’t have proof, but you died. You’re gone. You’re not coming back and I hate that. I hate that I didn’t get to see you before hand and I hate how we have so much music still unplayed and unwritten between us. It’s been nearly two years and I’m still sad about it. I miss you more now than I did when you were alive because we had time. You were doing your thing and I was doing mine but we had time. Now it’s gone and it was never spent. Liked a shredded dollar bill.