it's a year later now...and i've realized that i no longer wonder what would have happened had i gotten on that plane that morning, the morning that everything faded to black, and how that would have been just fucking hilarious to be arriving at seatac while he was trying to call. i no longer dream of that emerald city...i no longer have those dreams where i'm wandering around the apartment one last time before i walk away, walking down to broadway...the dream where the cop shakes his head in sorrow and tells me "she has a lovely face" as i pass by and i smile when i realize that she's no longer me.