The dream is still in the forefront of my mind. I spent a couple hours last night reading an old journal from winter of ‘96 - ‘97, and the memories are flooding back in ways I hadn’t expected.

It’s strange to grieve three years after a death.

What needs to happen now is that I need to finish the tattoo John started five years ago this month. It’s just sitting there on my back, and I’m convinced that there are bodymemories lying dormant in my skin, waiting to be woken up by new ink. There are tears here somewhere, and I think that once this piece of art is finished, they’ll finally find a home.