Last night I dreamed of Martin Luther King. I was with him at the onset of his rise to power, shortly after he'd gotten popular enough to have to go into hiding for a short period to escape persecution.

We were waxing philosophical in his garage (which was vaguely familiar) when we were interrupted and urgently summoned to deal with a crisis: a little girl that was part of our 'camp' had been missing for days, and there was some confusing surrounding her disappearance. I'm fuzzy on the details but something thing concerning her murdering a white man (an absurd notion - she was maybe 12).

A member of our camp had a hunch, or got a tip, or figured out that she was trapped inside a hide-a-bed. In true dream fashion this thing had about 8 layers to unfold outward before we got to her. She was there, wedged firmly against a dead white man who was wrapped tightly in black tarp.

So we got her out and...there's really no point to the explanation of this dream, save one:

I didn't dream about you last night. Not once.


I think I've been extra emotional lately (just the way you hate). I think your damn "I miss you - I love you" at the end of our last conversation knocked my shit around.

I can't do that anymore.

What I can do is go get ready for work, change peoples lives (most notably my own), hit deadlifts, miss you with all my heart, and love you the best way I can: by staying away.

I miss you so much puppy.