Dreamweaver

After you died, I wanted so badly to dream about you.  I wanted to see you moving and hear you talking.  I didn’t dream about you for weeks.  It bothered me because the most random thoughts or experiences in my day would find their way into my dreams.  However, my most recurring thought couldn’t make an appearance.  I finally dreamt about you this week.  We were on vacation in Mexico, which is the last place we traveled together.  We were staying in a resort off the beach.  It was owned and operated by the Cartel, who looked a lot like 1990s Los Angeles gang members.  They called us Mr. and Mrs. Homes, brought us towels and drinks, and carted us around in a golf cart.  I dream about you now regularly.  In my dreams, you always find a way to run off.  Last night you told me you were going to go take care of some business and we parted ways in a Japanese subway station.  I wonder if you ever want to see me.  Or if you are able to see me.   Do you remember how Thurgood used to smile and excite over seeing Barbie on Toy Story when the song “Dreamweaver” would come on?  Dreamweaver.  I miss you, Trav.  Maybe I’ll see you tonight. 
Ashi