I look up and the blue sky seems so far away, and the air it smells different, it smells . . . like Spain. Am I in Spain? I looked around and we are. And I say we because he is right there standing beside me, with a blue camp shirt and a khaki shorts laughing as I seldom seen him laugh.
We are in Spain and my very good friends, whom I miss dearly, call him by his name in Spanish. We drink and eat and have fun and . . . I think we go to a wedding. It seems a recurring dream of mine, going to weddings. Going to wedding with him.