I'm not fond of going to bed any more.
But I just reread the last post, and I remember that feeling, the look in his eyes, the way he stumbled on his words, and the glimmer of confusion that happened behind his eyes. He said later he never imagined that the kind of love that we had, was really real. It was film romance love, rather than what he had before, because this was, truly, never ending.
So I'm wrapped in his love as I go to bed, remembering the feel of the soil under my feet, the cold beer in my hand, and the softness of his voice, the humour, the laughter, and the friendship that we had.