Last night we met in the astral plane—
your voice like wind threading through pine.
Maybe it was only a dream,
a whispered wish tucked under my pillow,
but it felt real
the way warm sand clings to wet toes after dusk.
You and I,
just us again.
No noise, no past, just heart to heart,
like we used to do
when trust didn’t need to be spoken
because it lived in the silence between us.
I remembered—
how you nestled under my arm
in that snow-silent park in upstate New York.
The coffee was bitter,
the hot chocolate too sweet,
but you—
you were perfect.
And for a moment,
I believed the world had paused for us,
granted us one sacred turn at love.
We chased that feeling
all the way to Oregon,
across mountains that shivered under moonlight,
through coastal fog that carried our laughter,
past gas stations and backroads
and dreams scribbled on café napkins.
We braved the storms in our van—
each thunderclap a reminder
that even in chaos,
we were sanctuary for each other.
Gold Beach became our garden of quiet.
We fed the Stellar Jays and whispered to the Ravens.
You made art from driftwood and found forest objects.
I made poems from your smile.
And the Pacific—
she gave us agates,
smooth and mysterious,
like the layers of our love.
Some afternoons, the light was so golden,
I thought I saw the outline of angels
resting on your shoulders.
And I’d think:
If this is a dream—
please don’t wake me.
I have never known a happier home
than your voice calling me in from the sea,
or the hush of your breath
against my morning.
Maybe there’s still a miracle waiting,
tucked in the folds of a Pennsylvania sunset.
Maybe one day you’ll want to compare notes again,
laugh about the storms and count the agates,
watch the ravens spin against the sky
like love letters with wings.
Until then,
know this:
My heart never closed the door.
It still sets an extra place at the table.
It still hums your name
when the wind turns west.
I’m still grateful.
Always.
For the dream.
For the love.
For you.
-Bearz