I *heart* you...

February 14, 2002

It got so bad that I dreamt about her. I would wake each morning staring at my off-white cracked plaster ceiling realizing that it was all imagination generated by my subconscious.

There was one morning in which she showed up at my door (to get the key to the shop) right after a rather vivid and explicit dream. I hid behind my door to hide my...um...excitement.

I knew I was setting myself up for a fall, but I didn't care. I felt something, something different than my old gray life. The old gray life that I fashioned.

I asked my love to have dinner with me on Valentine's Day. I dressed up in a white collar shirt and a little blue vest with gold buttons. I might have even combed and gelled my hair.

It was a lovely little dinner at Jack London Square. I still have the credit card receipt somewhere. I can't remember what we talked about, being too happy, or too scared to concentrate.

Afterward, I proclaimed my love to my love, amongst tears and hugs. I noticed how careful you were choosing your words, out of concern for my feelings, or yours?

Do you think about that night? Do you wonder what happened? Do you know what happened? If we ever run into each other again, would you forgive me? If we ever run into each other again, would I forgive myself?

Would I want to?