Prompt: (Letter To) Open when you can't sleep The groupie wanted an angsty twist, who am I to say no. (Zhere's a slight tweak to this prompt - sorry Groupie!) (The word angst is bolded for a reason. Read on if you absolutely must.)

Gail,

I thought people romanticize the unnecessary. In my head, there never was any allure to save up old movie stubs and go ice skating. It was all dull, simple, predictable. I had my own idea of love - it wasn't something I ever thought I'd find - but it was fun playing with my fantasies, dreaming up scenarios where I'd meet my version of the perfect woman and I would be head over heels in love with her.

That's how I used to put myself to sleep. Dreaming blissfully of coming across the girl of my dreams and falling hopelessly in love with her. I never pictured an actual person - but just someone. Someone who would be freakishly cute in love with me, someone who would play with my hair before falling asleep herself, someone who would have this soft spot only for me and our kids. I dreamt a lot - built plenty of castles in the air, painted beautiful scenarios in my imagination - I had everything down to the very last detail - the color of the bed sheets, the soft silence hugging us, I was a very vivid imaginer I'd say.

And then I met you, rather stumbled across you in a crime scene. Can I just say you were nowhere close to the woman of my dreams. (Well, for starters - the woman of my dreams would definitely know how to swing a bat.)

So, let me clarify that I didn't know that I would fall in love with you. But I did. And I don't regret it Gail. One day I woke up before you did and thought - this was nothing like I dreamed it would be like, but everything I wanted it to be. This was it - bliss.

I still remember every minute of that morning, Gail - us sipping coffee in bed, me trying to read the paper while you got in your head to jibe at every headline you found. I don't know how you did it but you made reading the paper hilarious. Were you doing that just to make me laugh? I'd like to think so.

And that's when I realized - we don't romanticize the unnecessary. We romanticize what makes us feel loved.

I still think of that morning whenever I can't sleep at night - I don't know why it just pops into my head. When I close my eyes and try to get to sleep - I am back there again - in that morning, feeling the mild heat of the morning air brush away the night's chillness, you resting your head on my shoulder begging me to put the paper away and me being stubborn and warning you that we were going to be late to work, you pouting and deciding to take over the role of satirical newsreader for the morning. I can picture it all - you in your little shorts grabbing the paper and getting up to stand at the foot of the bed, reading the paper out loud in the most droll way ever, while I laughed and drank my coffee. It was a passing moment in our lives, but a memory that sticks out in my mind.

I wish I had been late to work that day. There's a regret for you.

There are some nights even that memory doesn't help me get to sleep Gail. And I hate you for it. Because ever since you died, I can't go back to those childish fantasies of mine - those little scenarios I dreamt up with a mysterious someone. Don't even think about asking why. You absolutely ruined me, Gail Peck. You should know that.

There are some nights I really wish you were here, you know. Is it too much to ask to have you in my arms again?