Valentine's Day was a dream. I had a real dream about my first boyfriend who died in 1982. I've never ever dreamed about him before. I haven't thought about him at all since I wrote about him months ago, after I tracked down his sister and chatted with her to find out why he died so young.
So I found it mysterious and wonderful that he appeared on Valentine's Day.
The most striking thing about his appearance was that he looked exactly like he did when I first met him on the beach when I was only 14 and he was 18. There he was in person, in color, and as clear as if he were standing in front of me right now. I have always regretted that I didn't have a picture of him to look at all these years. So the details of his face had faded somewhat. But in my dream he was as vivid as yesterday. And his features all came back to me.
His eyes were bright blue, his hair was blond and curly. And his smile was as big and compelling as ever. All things I had almost completely forgotten. But I can now remember them, because he was so real.
The best part was when he asked me to dance. And we danced the dream away. Around and around. I never took my eyes off him. At one point I suddenly realized we were dancing high in the air, floating in the clouds.
So I had a wonderful Valentine's Day. Some very special people remembered me.
And so did someone I thought I forgot.