henry in the gallery
dreamt about hen last night for the first time in so long.
you drifted away, he said, approaching me in a gallery full of him and a shirt that never belonged to him, i thought we were seeing all this together!
he said my name, too. it sounded so good to hear it. it sounded like he gave it to me.
my name is at home in his voice and i hadn’t realized how homesick i’ve been until i woke from the dream of the gallery and the portraits that made me weep and i sat in bed with the dog pressed so close to my body we might as well share one and i wept some more. because it was so nice of him to visit me. i was so glad for it that i didn’t even stop for a second to wish that it had been longer.
he said my name and yes, i have all of his voice memos saved on my computer and so i can go back and listen to him wish me a happy birthday and complain about boys and money and feelings and squeal about the things he squealed about and yes, of those five hours of his voice i’m sure about one hour is just him saying my name the way he always did, but to hear it in real-time in a gallery i invented while the dog and i spooned and snored it was… what a gift, is what i’m saying. that he decided to visit me last night.
this post isn’t a scheduled one. i’m writing it now, under the almost full moon, with the magnet-dog by my side and a houseguest i didn’t expect sitting on the couch and henry visited me last night in a gallery full of portraits of him in the shirt i am wearing right now at this very second.
i’m going to sleep soon, and i hope i go back to the gallery, but i doubt that i will. hen might have other plans. he’s busy being the best part of all the greatest things. and maybe another eight months will pass before he visits my dreams again. maybe longer, i don’t know. that’s fine by me. i can be patient. for him, i can be patient.
i didn’t say anything to him last night in the dream. i woke up right after he approached me, right after he put his hands on my shoulders and i got to look into his eyes and remember exactly how they crinkle when his heart is full of love and warmth and tears.
i don’t remember the last thing i said to him.
i am writing this now because i hope he can read it, maybe. i don’t know. but this last bit is for hen:
thank you for visiting. please don’t be a stranger. it was so good to see you that for a second i forgot why i hadn’t seen you in so long. i will never drift away from you. you are who i am drifting towards. always.