It shouldn't come to me as a surprise, but it still does.
I suppose I know why I dreamed about you. I'm sick of feeling I have to be the grown up in charge; that's not what I signed up to when we planned this trip. Even though most of the time things are fine, yesterday evening was a wee bit difficult. And I suppose it shows. That's where you come in, isn't it?
I haven't written to you in ages. I'm not even sure why I'm doing it right now.
I still talk about you, occasionally. Just with him, though; the only one who understands what you were to me and why I miss you. Everyone else thought I'm overreacting. They thought it's unnatural. They never understood you're not the problem, but the only solution I've ever had. He does. I'm glad they pressured me to go back to therapy, if only for that.
Not that that means I stop thinking about you or missing you. I just try to ignore it, because nothing good will come out of coming to see you. That's why I haven't come for a year and nearly five months. Doesn't mean I forget.
And last night... we made up. And you sent me things to take care of me, even stuff related to your family. And mine wasn't fond of this, but I didn't care, because you accepted me into yours. Like I was your child or your little sister or something in between. You were there to take care of me.
And dammit, I miss you.
I need the noise, the dramas, the keeping busy. I need it because it drowns away every thought and emotion I don't want to face. It drowns away the pain. But I can't control it in my dreams. And somehow, you always come back there. Along with everything I'm trying not to think about.
And then I wake up and miss you so badly that I know I have to come and see you.
Thank god I won't be back in Israel until Tuesday.
I do love you, my silly boy. I always will.