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.