letter to bob

I dreamed of you the other day and you were the you before all the chaos.
You wore a shirt that I bought you as a gift while we were dating, soft, deep purple.
I had forgotten the shirt until I saw your twenty four year old self wearing it.
You smelled of Grey Flannel.
You were in my home and I was the me now, not the eighteen year old me I would have been with you at twenty four.
Your skin was unblemished, your face full, eyes not wrinkled and puffy.
You came to me and asked why it wouldn't work.
We held each other and wept.
I told you that "you broke me inside."
You pointed to my head and asked "in here?", then my heart and asked "or in here?"
I answered both. and I told you that you had died. I explained to you that you had taken your own life in a way and it was over now.
You evaporated then, into thin air, gone, just gone.
I stood there thinking you voice was gone, your handwriting, your laughter, your yell, your arrogance, your cocky walk.
I woke up beathing heavily and with tears on my face and I wept again for you, for me, for your mother. I did not weep for your children.
And I wept with happiness thinking that it was over, I need to let go now.