Weirdest Dream

Sting (the rock singer, who looks just like John in my dream) came to a work meeting to discuss how to use creative writing to improve client participation in the process. (Of course, Sting would come to something like that.) And people were reading something I wrote, but they didn't know it was mine and they were making fun of it. At the party afterwards, Sting started singing and I joined it, not even realizing he was Sting the rock singer, until later. So we sang "If you love somebody, set them free."

If you need somebody, call my name
If you want someone, you can do the same
If you want to keep something precious
You got to lock it up and throw away the key
If you want to hold onto your possession
Don't even think about me

If you love somebody, set them free

Free, free, set them free.

So Sting and I started flirting and I went back to his hotel room and we fucked, which was kind of lousy. And I went in the bathroom to and still had a dildo in me and realized we didn't fuck. I asked him and he said he wasn't up to sex, but he thought it was what I wanted. And I felt the same way. So we fell asleep in each other's arms.

In the morning, he was gone, so I got dressed and started to write a note and he came back in. He was upset I was leaving and I pointed out the note and he pointed out it didn't have a number on it.

Then he and I became really good friends, and we kept sleeping together, sort of platonically and I got to know his daughter and she was like 12 and we all became kind of a family. But a platonic one.

It felt like a healing dream. Of course, I think this is much more about John than Sting.

I did 'set him free' but not in my heart. From the moment we got in-depth, I just loved him and wanted him so badly.

I think there are three things I'm looking at right now:

1. I want to know if John actually cared about me. Did he really not pursue things because he didn't want to hurt me, or did he not pursue things because he didn't want me? I can sort of live with the former. And the fact that he kept my ring, that he contacted me a week before he died, that he told his friend I was his soulmate, all those things point in that direction. But something was missing, it seems. It wasn't soup. And I can't help but feeling like there was something wrong with me that kept it from being soup.
2. I ache for the sharing I had with John. I think that's why I'm back to this blog so much. Of course, no one reads this blog. It gives me complete anonymity, and also enough of a sense of structure to put my thoughts in order, and I think it is overall useful. But it is very lonely that I pour my heart out and no one cares.
3. I don't know how to develop intimacy without sharing introspection. I know that is not the usual way relationships develop in the country. But it is the only way I know. But it leaves me profoundly vulnerable.