I had a vivid dream. A dream that was so lucid, I could trace the wrinkles in his face when he smiled. I could feel he was standing tall that I have to look up everytime we conversed. Like many other dreams, most of them didn't make sense. I met him at the attic of my home in my hometown, he had a project in town and spent days at my attic, sketching and writing stories. Of course this was not real, he does not sketch nor write. He takes pictures and he hikes. And that's what I like about him.

Then the memories floated in. There were too many little moments we spent together without me realizing that he was the adventure I wanna be with. In the earlier days, we had an impromptu meet-up by the beach. We remember this to every details. It was me who convinced him that I had the best tea and he must try it. He picked me up after work then sat down on the bench by the beach. I took out the tea bag out of my backpack and put it on top of the picnic bench. Right then we realized how silly it was, there was no hot water around. Always full of ideas, he knocked on the door of one of the kiosk. Luckily the owner lady gave us hot water for free, but she told us that it was not safe to hang out on the beach after dark. We gulped down our tea in hurry and took off from the beach with our burned tongues. We rode back to the city, laughing out loud. When it was a quiet ride, I rested my cheek on his back and resisted my arms from holding his waist. The night softly fell as I was contented that we decided to took the ride. I guess that was the beginning.
And there were thousands of those moments afterwards. Countless of cracking down jokes as the sun went down. Beaches after beaches, also more hikes. He always took me to unexpected places. The waterfall, a local museum which I didn’t know exist, and an unknown open space with fields of tares. Once, he took me to hike and meet his friends who were working on rock climbing path. As I was carefully stepping up to some rocks, the rain fell. Gentle rain in tiny drops, hit the earth almost like a melody. We quietly sat down next to each other. I was fine, I was dry, I had the solid roof above me. The end of the day was so beautiful and when he pat my head, I almost slapped him for creating a too romantic scene that I couldn’t handle.
We didn't date or whispering sweet words into ears. We laughed at each other too much, calling each other nick names. Too many late nights we spent together without even thinking that we could watch the morning rise instead of calling it a night. And never we talked about feelings. Who needs another feelings when we were the happiest in our moments together. Recently I read Osho books about love and aloneness, and one of the chapter talked about to love is to relate, and it is beyond relationship. How often do we want to relate with the person next to us? Is it a struggle or hard work? While with some people, it was fairly easy. Some people just connect in a snap and they pick up the spark where they left of. I remember that night we walked down my favorite path under local cherry blossoms in full bloom. It was like a movie scene, only this one was with a scent.

One night we talked for hours over street food dinner. I vaguely remember that it was after one of our sunset moments. We sat next to each other, staring into the busy street. I didn’t finish my fried rice, and somehow we had a prolongued talks about each lover. Never crossed in our mind, that lovers shouldn’t be about distance. Lovers should be about who we are with each night. That night was young, but we were tired. I tapped his caving helmet as a sign.

The dream left a sad, deep and lonely feeling. I didn’t get up for hours, laying on my bed recalling things. Maybe it was me who wish there were more. More of us, more of days spent together. But we never had a farewell, not a single promise we made. We were too busy enjoying the weather, never even thought that we could have been soo good together. But today, I’m happy that we never crossed that boundary. I’m forever glad that one time, I wasn’t reckless. It was not a quite steamy love story, but this time I did it right.

I finally grabbed my cell and quickly drafting him a message. It was 630 days since we last talked. I miss you, Jack.

That Rockaway feeling

I can feel it’s ending. That Sundays, when everyone rushed to the beach just because we had unseasonably warm weather in late September, ...