I dreamed about you last night. It was wartime and we were together and in danger. We narrowly escaped being put in the rooms where the gas was thrown and the yellow-green explosion came up from below.
It was cold but not bitterly so. We were rounded up with others and as we waited for the soldiers to get to us, I looked at you directly, saying, “I love you” for the first time. I cringed, because I had been determined to not be the one to say it first. You looked at me, smiled and chuckled. The smile met your eyes and I knew I was being teased. What? Just because we are facing soldiers and an unknown future, I need to start saying things that might sound like “goodbye” or “this might be my last chance”? I could read it all in your eyes.
We were scared, but we were strong together and that was all we needed.
Today I woke to my safe life, but I have been haunted by the dream. By you. That feeling of being stronger together and able to face impossibility together . . . I miss you so much . . . daresay I love you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll be the one to say it first.