Killing Me Softly With His Gun

A few nights ago, Tara had a dream about me. She was reluctant to talk about it, for fear that it would scare me or freak me out. “Did I die in it?” I asked. She admitted that I had. “How¬†did I die?” “You were shot.” Upon hearing that, I breathed a sigh of relief.Continue reading “Killing Me Softly With His Gun”