the sheets of my bed were still warm.  he and i had spent our last few
hours together there, before he had to disappear once again into the
vast emptiness that was the 2001 pop odyssey tour.  stiflingly alone, i
sat by my window and stared out into the smoggy, starry los angeles
night.
 

if i blinked really hard sometimes i would remember that he was the
same boy i always knew.  there were moments, though, where it was hard
to believe that the gorgeous creature he had become, the one that had
so recently been in my bed, used to be the scrawny, mop-topped boy who
used to chase me around the MMC set with a squirt gun.  we were only
kids back then, kids far away from where we grew up, kids with no sense
of normalcy and a life consumed by work.  but still, we were just kids.
 

kids with dreams.
 

it still baffles me that he and i each made those dreams come true.
how many people can say that?  how many can reach for the stars *and*
catch them the way he and i have?  and even if one person in the pair
reaches that ultimate goal, how many can say that their best friend was
there, too, making his or her own dreams come true at the same time?
if i blinked really hard sometimes it felt normal.  but only for that
moment.
 

by the window, i hugged my knees to my chest.  not long ago he did a
special on MTV with the other guys, and when carson had inevitably
asked justin about me, a chorus of boos resounded from the audience.
justin had silenced them with a quick, "hey, booing ain't gonna change
anything," but by then it was too late for them to take back the sting,
even though hurting justin -- the object of their affections -- was
their last intention.  they loved him.  they wanted him for themselves.
 i stood in their way.  they were just kids, but they were kids with
dreams, too, weren't they?
 

i was crushing their dream.
 

but it wasn't the same, was it?
 

was it?
 

in the alienating cold of my room i blinked, and i remembered.  it was
late when i came home that night, a few weeks before the release of his
new CD, and i had wandered around my empty house, wishing he were there
to share it with me.  on the stairs, i had found a single red rose and
note which read, simply, in justin's boyish scrawl, "upstairs -- go
read."  i went up the stairs, curious as to what he'd done for me, and
found another rose and another note that said, "bedroom -- go read," as
well.  i still had no idea what he meant, so i went into my bedroom and
there on the bed, along with the rest of the 2-dozen deep red roses,
was the new CD.  justin had written "read" on a post-it note and
attached it to the cover, and finally i knew what he meant.
 

fingers trembling, i had opened the case and pulled out the liner
notes.  my heart in my throat, i turned to the page which contained
justin's thank-yous.  tears formed in my eyes as i read what he had
written to his friends, his family, the people he worked with -- all of
his words were meaningful and sincere.  for a man so young, justin had
an incredible depth of love for people, especially the people around
him, and that depth never ceased to amaze me.
 

and then i read what he wrote to me.
 

i can still see the words.  black page, tiny white print.  i know them
by heart:
 

"pinky -- i love you more and more each day and if all of this stopped
tomorrow, i would be ok knowing that you would be by my side no matter
what.  i can't breathe without you.  don't ever forget that."
 

when i read those words, the tears that had been threatening to fall
since i picked up the first rose cascaded down my cheeks.  i stood
there, teary-eyed amongst his roses, and knew.
 

luck didn't even begin to describe this.
 

the morning after that, he had flown in from god-knows-where to ask if
i'd read it.  he had taken a flight to los angeles to get my reaction
in person.  he said he wanted to see my eyes for himself.
 

we spent that morning, that afternoon, that evening and night in each
other's arms.
 

in my cold cold room i knew if i blinked, that could again be now.  if
i closed my eyes, he would again be there, his blue eyes playful,
expectant, his smile soft and gentle and full of love.  if i blinked he
would be there.  but only for a moment.  and only in my mind.
 

the empty expanse of my bed, where he had been, spread out before me
and swallowed my dreams.  i was alone.
 

and the truth was *i* couldn't breathe without *him*.  it wasn't
something i could explain.  i wanted desperately to tell justin's
teeny-bopper fans that his love was deep to the point of drowning, that
they had to be absolutely sure of themselves in order to even be caught
in the truth of his blue gaze, the gaze that he could soften with a
disarming smile if the depth got to the drowning point.  they wouldn't
understand.
 

they don't know what's it's like to watch him leave.
 

they've never kissed him awake in the morning.
 

they've never seen him cry.
 

and they think they want all that, but they don't.  they would drown.
 

i do every time.
 
 

the end  :O)