(no subject)

I dreamed last night about driving to Amarillo, because someone in the family had to testify in a decades old murder trial that finally came to light. My grandfather was still alive, fragile and unable to stand in a brown suit. He knew me, and I begged him over and over not to die on me, that there wasn't anyone else in the family that knew me like him. I think he tried to tell me it was okay, while I looked through photos of him as a young man.

In the dream he looked different from the man I remember. Close, but not the same. A strange, strange dream.

The only thing that used to make me feel better about Grandpa's death was that I told him "I love you." Those were the last words I said to him.

My dreams were strangely realistic. I even dreamed about reading LJ, which is lame enough I suppose. I think I stayed up too late thinking.