You're always in my dreams. Before, the dreams were complicated, now the dreams are simple. Now we're all right. You're there, with me. And at the same time I have my life, these girls telling me they want to live with me. It's funny, all these dreams about love I'm having at the moment. Peaceful, serene dreams, not sexual ones, where there's no conflict between you-me and me-them, where it all works together. Of course, they're only dreams. And you're not really there, I guess. Apart from that one hour every fifteen days at the meeting space. But I think that's enough for me to be able to say that you're there. Because that's what I keep seeing. You're there and I'm there, even though we don't live together. I guess that's what's happening. I can't wait for us to get through this, to see each other normally. I can't wait, but I'm afraid, too. I'm afraid we won't be able to do it much longer.

I still worry about meeting you. About speaking to you. You have no idea how much I worry about it. I worry so much, I can't wait for it to be over. From start to finish. And you've no idea how relieved I feel on the weeks I don't see you. The other day, my roommate guessed right away that I'd seen you, because of how happy I was, we were talking, I said I'd seen you that afternoon and he said, Ah, that explains it! I thought about it, I think he's right. Even though I worry, I know everything's fine. And that changes everything. I know it's all right. I didn't dream it all up. It's the same me and you as it's always been. And frankly, nothing else matters. It's going to be OK, you know. Even if it's hard. I told you that, that I knew how hard it was. You smiled. When you come and hug me, it's not because you're sad, it's not you being gushy. It's just to make sure we're still here. Even when we're not together. I tell myself that's what the meeting space is for. So I'm telling you, too. And you reply, I know.

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