In my dream, he isn't there. I'm on a trip with friends, a trip that feels very much like an attempt at distraction, which isn't working since the only constant in my thoughts is his absence. In the daze of the dream, the reason for his absence isn't clear, although the pit in my stomach suggests it will be long, perhaps permanent.

I do my best to play along, to go through the motions, to act in the way that's expected of me. But despite being with dear friends, I am utterly, unbearably alone. Actually, it isn't the aloneness that's unbearable, it's being without him. I see dolphins, and wrapped up in the joy of the sight is the desire to share it with him. But he isn't there, and the realization that I can't even tell him about it makes the moment suddenly empty. Every joy is enhanced by - no, entwined with - his presence and participation, and without him each moment drains of color. Life loses its third dimension; everything is flat and meaningless. I am stumbling, aching, walking wounded. The pain is piercing and suffocating, and I want so desperately to go back. Let me go back! To where he is or when he was. Please let me go back.

I wake up. And there he is. Next to me. My eyes fill with tears as relief replaces grief. I slide against him, hold him in his sleep, and softly weep because it could have been, and still could be.

Then I sigh in gratitude, as I cling to him, for the gift of another day together.