A thousand times a day

A thousand times a day, I wonder what you would think about something I encounter or experience. Would you think the “Meat & 3 Box” at Arby’s is stupid? Almost certainly. Would you like that Mystic Moon moved across the street? I bet you’d love the new space. Would you see the decorations I’ve put out, appreciate my efforts, then rearrange things to make it look better than I could have? Definitely.

I had to look it up, and apparently humans average 6,200 thoughts a day. I guess I have to revise my prior statement, then, because you occupy the vast majority of my waking thoughts. I can’t tell if it’s good or bad that I don’t remember my dreams often. Every time I’ve dreamt of you since you passed, my dream self knew you were on the other side, even as you appeared to be next to me. At least once I would love a peaceful, ignorance-is-bliss type dream, one where we can simply enjoy each other’s company for a few moments. In the other sense of the word dream, that is what I really dream about, wish and hope for.

Perhaps it’s more like this: a thousand times a day, I wonder what you’d think about a situation I’m in. You always gave me the best advice. Another thousand times a day, I miss you so fiercely it physically hurts. I ache to kiss your forehead, intertwine our fingers, squeeze you so tightly I can hear your forced exhale. The third thousand is made up of memories, remembering all the wonderful moments big and small that we were lucky enough to experience together.

Thoughts 4,000 through 4,999 are wishes, hopes, dreams, alternate realities. I know I shouldn’t dwell in the world of “what if” but I am only human after all. I think about all the plans we had, all the things you wanted to do. Sometimes I wonder if I can carry out some of them or if it would break my heart too much to do them without you. My least favorite of these are the ones when I consider a world where we’d found you a specialist sooner. Maybe I wouldn’t be writing these words, but I’d sure be a lot happier.

Each thought of the next two thousand are love. Pure, beautiful, all-encompassing, life-altering, once-in-a-lifetime love. I love you now, I loved you then, and I will continue to love you forever. Your passing cannot erase or diminish that love in any way.

Don’t worry about the remaining 200. They’re mostly basic human needs, road rage I’m working to get rid of, and annoyance with Bacon for waking me up. I’ll keep those thoughts for functional purposes, but you get to keep the 6,000.