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“You know that song was written for me right?”

“No, Rose, no. That song was not written for you. You were only a small child when that song was written. You haven’t even met him for the song to be written about you”.

I sipped my martini and looked down at my battered nails that had only a remainder of black nail polish. “Thirsten, why can’t you have an imagination? Besides, I never asked for him to enter my dreams”.

Thirsten drank his beer from a plastic cup and smoked a cigarette while looking towards the stage.

“Rose, sometimes I swear you are crazy, absolutely crazy. Only a pervert would dream such things. He is old enough to be your grandfather. And look how short he is”.

I sighed for lack of understanding and said “because he entered my dreams, that means I have entered his, and that song was absolutely written for me. No one else seems to understand why I do what I do. He does. It was written for me”.

 

In dreams I think of you

I don’t know what to do with myself

Time has let me down

She brings broken dreams, fallen stars,

the endless search for where you are

(sail on, sail on)

 

“Do you think he knows that I know that it is about me?”

“No Rose, I don’t, but there are many people in this world that think the same thing you do”.

Rest in peace DIO. We love you.

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