Back in the late 80′s, I was hopelessly in love with a straight guy. We were very close and many people thought we were a couple anyway. He was aware of how I felt and sometimes played on that, but our relationship was good. He went away for a couple of years to Bristol and came back as this appalling boorish oaf. Talk about a passion killer. I miss the guy I fell for and the memory of our relationship still keeps me kind of warm and fuzzy.
Last night I had a dream about him. We were in Leeds which was virtually deserted. We bumped into each other by the Met and we got in his car and went to Briggate. We got out and went to one of the pubs in one of the arcades and went to the cellars which is where he was storing all his music memorabilia and CDs. Once he’d checked it was okay in the wake of whatever disaster had befallen Leeds, and secured it, we got back into the car and made our way out of Leeds.
We hit the motorway where there was a lot more traffic. We travelled in silence. After about half an hour, he stopped the car, took the keys out of the ignition, got out of the car and walked to the central reservation and sat down. I followed and sat next to him. He put his head on my shoulder and just cried and cried.
I don’t think this means anything in particular and I haven’t seen him since about ’92. But it was nice, even if only in a dream, to have that intimacy back just for a moment.