Do you know who I am? Do you still remember me? Do you think about me sometimes?
Just asking, not that’s so important, and even less it’s consequential.
Last night I dreamt of you. It was not the first time, nor it’ll be the last (or so I hope). Nothing special in the dream, but being with you. Nothing so unreal, besides me being the man of today, and you the delight of many many years ago. So yeah, pretty unreal, I do know.
6pm, north of Bangkok, a question from The Boatman’s Call fills the air finding its own response. Yes, you were. Damn, how deadly were you.
Not that I miss thou for a split second, nor that who’s with me today is somehow less than what you’ve been. She’s not, by all means.
But in the days following the nights that I dream of you, at dawn, and especially at dusk, I know I could have… I know I would have… yeah, you’re right, I know nothing, and I never will.
But I have enough whiskey to make it through the night, and enough whatever else to forget about the rest, so I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine, I guess. Even if I’m not and I won’t. But… one more night… one more dream, my (dark) Lord… please, one more… or, maybe, not.