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2015-08-09 - 1:17 p.m.

I had an interesting dream last night. Once again, I didn't write it down. I always think I'm going to remember everything because my dreams are so vivid. Then the details fade, rather quickly, once I wake up. I do remember the main thing though.

So here's what I remember: My Philly boy was laying in bed. He was much younger than he is now. He was just exactly like he was the first time I ever saw him naked. I mean, in the dream he was also naked and everything was exactly like that first time. It is amazing how your subconscious mind has filed away every single thing you ever saw or thought or did. It's all there, in your mind, exactly recorded. It is our recall that is sometimes faulty, but the true memory lives inside you. Every now and then you get to revisit something in that dream state and it can be replayed in its exact perfection.

So my guy was laying in bed, on his stomach and I was sitting on the side of the bed. I pulled back the covers and started lightly dragging my fingertips over the skin on his back. Lightly tickling him. He likes that and he was enjoying it a lot. My fingertips were giving him goose bumps. He shivered a little with the tickling. His skin was damp. His back looked just exactly as I remember it. I remember his exact shape, skin tone, coloring, everything. His hair was long and exactly as it really was. Every thing about him, even (maybe especially) this unusual little patch of hair he has on his back is endearing and beloved to me. I was completely filled with love for him.

I've been missing him a lot lately. I guess that is what brought on this dream of overwhelming, all-encompassing love.

I am completely happy in every other aspect of my life. I am fortunate and blessed. But there is a giant Corey shaped hole in my life. Even though he has hurt me more than anyone everrrrrr... I feel and remember a comfort in him that I can't imagine having with anyone else.

Some days I feel strong and other days I feel like I'm going to absolutely die of missing him.

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