Sometimes, on nights like tonight, I'll lie in bed and just think about him. I'll fill my head with memories and daydreams. I'll close my eyes and in that instant, I can remember his face exactly. When I think about him more though, the more I concentrate, the fuzzier the image gets. It makes me sad. I can't remember how his skin feels. i can't remember how he smells.
I sometimes flip back pages in my journal, and read about times when he was here, when he was home. I smile and I treasure them, the good times and the bad times. It reminds me that he does exist. That he isn't just a dream that I made up, that he's real.
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