I had the weirdest dream. I dreamed we were married again.

    You talked a lot. You kept saying things like this is realistic.
    When I woke up, I started reading all my old diaries.

I thought you hated diaries.

    I keep them when I’m miserable. Anyway,
    all those years I thought we were so happy
    I had a lot of diaries.

    Do you ever think about it? Do you ever wonder
    if the whole thing was a mistake? Actually,
    half the guests said that at the wedding.

    I’ll tell you something I never told you:
    I took a valium that night.

    I kept thinking of how we used to watch television,
    how I would put my feet in your lap. The cat would sit
    on top of them. Doesn’t that still seem
    an image of contentment, of well-being? So
    why couldn’t it go on longer?

Because it was a dream.