On the train home from work today, I closed my eyes. One job, the other job, the stress of the day, thinking about the move…I couldn’t stand it. I just remembered. 

In a flash I was there. I closed my eyes and escaped into the past. To that weekend with Wilt. 

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to remember every delicious detail. From the moment I appeared at his hotel room door thinking I was just going to get my bank holiday weekend off to a flying start to the moment he kissed me goodbye at Victoria Station, 3 days later. The most extraordinary weekend of my life. 

I allowed myself to recall all our adventures in between. 

Kinky Boots. 

Lobster dinner. 

Out first night together. 

Les Miserables.


Walking the Southbank.

The Tower of London. 


Drinks in Soho.

That time, it’s like a dream I can perfectly recall. Only it was more wonderful than any dream I’ve ever had because it was real. It shines bright as gold in my mind, turning everything around it dull. 

But then I open my eyes and I’m here, in a dingy tube. And Wilt is gone, far away. I’m all alone and I feel the tears start to come. I thank God every day that I could have had something so wonderful, and curse Fate that it was only to be for 3 days. 3 days of utter bliss, but 3 days only. 

What did I do for such a blessing, and why is it also such a punishment?

How I wish that I could tackle all these maddening problems with him at my side. The thing is, I don’t miss all our wild adventures, the parts which burn the most brightly in my memory are the most domestic. 

Of him lying on my front as I rub his shoulders. Of the way he’d silently take me in his strong arms and nuzzle his rough chin into my neck. 

How I love to retell the story. It brings me such joy. I remember one friend commenting how talking about him made my eyes light up, as I remembered my handsome sailor-lad. 

Every day I say a silent prayer that he won’t just stay a memory, that somehow fate will bring him back to me. 

I know it’s an almost impossible dream. Even if we do meet again, there’s every chance that it won’t work. That one of us will be taken or something will arise to muddy the waters. 

It’s just a dream.


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