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Paul squinted in the bright sunlight. He found himself in an old field in Liverpool, one he couldnt quite name. The grass was green, the trees flourishing in the exceptional weather. It was all very nostalgic in a way. The wind blew through his hair while he trudged on towards a familiar figure. John sat in the field smoking a cigarette while he looked up at Paul expectantly. Walking towards him, Both stayed silent. John just looked and stared upwards at Paul. It wasn't weird really, truthfully it felt a bit comforting to see him. Paul sat next to him cross legged in the fresh green grass. Looking at each other felt like they were talking, but there weren't any words. It was just a feeling, a sense of silent conversation. They were talking but their mouths weren't moving. Looking down, they were back in those nice old suits from the early days, freshly ironed and washed it seems. Paul's hair was black again, his wrinkles were gone. John looked the same as he always did, though I suppose there's no older version to compare to. It was all smiles and sunshine, it was a picture perfect day. They sat together for what felt like hours. Laughter without laughing, touching without bodies, fun with no real input.
Though, all things must pass it seems. Especially good things.
Paul opened his eyes, shifting beneath his blankets. Looking around, there was no john. No sunlight, no field, no suits, just a grieving old man in the dark. He sat up, feeling disappointed. Paul's eyes began to water, like a child waking up from a nightmare. He figures that wasnt a nightmare at all though, reality is the real nightmare. One Paul can never wake from. A tear falls down his wrinkled face. Nearly 45 years and Paul still holds this much grief? I suppose mourning really is a curious thing, isn't it?
He thinks about the old days. He knows he should go back to sleep, he should forget about it all so he can wake up happy in the morning. Thinking is torture in these times, but he just keeps going. If only he had known how soon Johns death would happen. Maybe if he knew, things could've been different. He would've hugged John so much harder if he knew when it was the last time. He would've told John how much he loved him. They would've stayed on the phone a lot longer if Paul knew it would be the last call. There's no real point in dwelling in the past though. Nothing can change, no matter how much you grieve and no matter how much you dream and pray for one last conversation, you'll never get it. Of course Paul knows this, but when so much pain fills your mind there really is no more room for logic. The tears are flowing steady now, one by one they fall. Down his cheeks, his nose, his mouth, his chin, his neck, he doesn't bother wiping them off.
Life is a beautiful thing, Paul wouldn't trade it for anything, but in times like these it feels like he just can't die soon enough. He wants his best friend back. There's still so much to say, so much to talk about, so much to do. He thinks about what he and John would talk about. Life, I guess. Paul smiles a bit thinking about what john would be saying up there. He'd be telling Paul to stop crying, I bet. "Look at that fool down there!" He might say. Maybe not, but the thought is comforting nonetheless.
Paul rolls over and shuts his eyes. Grabbing the pillow next to him, he hugs it close to his body. Being half asleep like this made it a lot easier to pretend it's john there in his arms. Fading back into sleep, he hopes he'll dream of John again.