Last night I dreamt you died. I was distraught. But it was like theatre. It wasn’t real and I probably didn’t care all that much in reality. I wanted to pull you away from your friends. You were supposed to be mine and mine alone. Wandering around on country roads and through a film set. You are mine.
I wonder how you died. I called H but she didn’t know. And her name wasn’t even H. It was Emma. So I was phoning myself, in tears and broken sentiments about how I missed you so much.
We went to buy sugar from a man on the side of the road. T picked out the cream coloured variation and you brought me home.
I don’t know how you died. I think it was a train. Which would be sort of ironic. Especially since it was only in my head and therefore purely a comment on how I feel about you. If it was a train, it would be very ironic indeed. Or else just very spiteful on my part.
Well, anyway, I hope you’re well and not dead. x