And, there in my dreams, at the top of a slightly rounded staircase, she stood high like a heavenly angel, welcoming me in. With her posture and her hands, she gestured me to come closer. So cautiously i walked closer. She brought me close enough to kiss, but instead she whispered in my ear the words I always wanted to hear.
"I'm sorry, and I forgive you," she says.
"Don't feel sorry," i reply with my eyes; we're both speaking, but there are no movements of our mouths, so we must be just thinking as one mind.
And that's just about when I knew that life was just about to begin.
Until the moment I began to first contemplate the idea I might have died.
When she and I first met, we were young and naive; full of hope and happiness. We ran around the streets of New York, kissing and holding hands, feeling the midsummer late night cool air draft between the buildings around the Financial districts. We walked her sister's dogs for her whenever she was out of town. Her sister was a big-time movie star, who converted to doing TV shows a while back ("it's much easier on my schedule," I recall her saying, "and to be honest, some of the plots are equally as good, if not better" which I happen to agree with; we were meeting for the first time at 60 Pine and we were always so careful about bringing the dogs on the elevator; there was always the chance that Chauncey, the big old Pitbull on the 18th floor, would mess with Sancho, her sister's black lab. And so that could get messy; we were careful of that.
Those nights, spent socializing with amazing people, like the Rolling Stone reporter we talked to at Welcome to the Johnson's. That night was right out of a movie. And I'd like to share that movie with you. It's a story about two kids who fell in love, and the world that tore them apart. You can take sides if you want, but I now know the reason why I died: I just didn't belong in that world.
