bogeyandruby

Random stuff, reflections on the meaning of life and death, humour, self-deprecation, a bit of bad poetry.

I dreamt about my friend Mike two nights ago. He still had his legs and was playing electric guitar, although he never played an instrument when he was alive. I could hear the music loud and clear, yet I listened to him in a detached way, as if he were far away instead of right in front of me. Other people appeared in my dream that night but he was the only one who came to mind when I woke up, with a thud, feeling cheated because there was no fog, no doubt, that he was dead, and anything I did to ease that heaviness just made it worse. So I threw off the covers and lay there, under the ceiling fan, eyes open, until it eased, and I could breathe again.

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