Last night I had a very bitter dream. I was in an old so weird house, with purple curtains and red carpets. I was crying. There were a lot of people in the big room where I was. Heath was there, holding two little girls in his arms. He was crying. Then I felt cold. I saw another little girl running through a corridor, so I follow her. I tripped over some dirty boxes and when I looked up, in front of me was Michelle Willians. She was crying too. She looks at me angry and said something like, “thank you for let me see that he is just human, not perfect, not perfect at all….” Then I saw myself running through that red corridor again, crying so bad. Suddenly my brokie babe was there, holding me, crying too. I was shaking in those sweet arms, feeling miserable, and I could see Heath at the end of the corridor, still holding those babies in his arms, crying, huming something. There was a crowd ‘round him, and looking at them I felt so so so guilty and ashamed, and I don’t know why.
I woke up tired, confused, so sad and, of course, crying. I don’t think that that bad dream has any sense, but I don’t want to dream about Heath crying; I don’t want to think about Heath crying; I don’t want to see him crying. I need the last image of him to be a happy one: Heath smiling, Heath fidgeting, Heath speaking proudly of his work. My broken heart needs that. Not Heath sad, not Heath crying. No more tears, please……