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go to sleep and we'll meet again

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Ringo was feeling odd. Something was off but he couldn't put the finger on it. He hoped it wasn't the effect of those new pills which the doctor prescribed him for his anxiety. He opened slowly his eyes and carefully looked around the room. Ringo was laying in a big, comfy bed. It was soft, he had never felt that comfortable in his life. But it wasn't his bed, it wasn't his home.

 

‘Ok easy. Deep breaths, in... and out...’ he opened his eyes again that time focusing on what was behind the window. A big green space, he saw only countless tops of trees, in different kinds and colors. The rays of sun coming through the glass gently shining on Ringo's face. He heard the leaves moving in the wind and softly humming of a water. That time the view and sound seemed more familiar, he was in Friar Park, in George's home. George...

 

As if on cue the man appeared in the doorway. George, he looked good. Ringo couldn't guess which year they were in but he had never seen George looking like that. Yes, he looked healthy, it was 2010s or maybe 2020s or maybe not. He didn't know because George looked different. The body healing after the years of treatment, his face lit by a smile. The hair was long again, long but silver.

 

‘Long and silky hair. Just like George liked it the most'

 

Ringo was still staring at him, he was staring at a masterpiece, a sculpture, a piece of art and he called him George.

 

„Hello love” George didn't move from his spot but he didn't need to do that. The voice was strong and clear. Those simply words were ringing in Ringo's mind. It sounded like he almost completely lost his scouse accent but the sound of it. The sound of George's voice didn't change. It was like a music to his ears, to be able to hear his voice once again. So unchanged and so real.

 

‘It's a dream. This has to be a dream. George never looked like that. He never...

 

George was still standing there and simply looking at Ringo with a smile on his face. Like he was waiting for something, for someone, for Ringo to adjust to that whole new situation.

 

„Did you tucked her in? Is she sleeping?” George still didn't move from the doorway. Now Ringo began to think he was glued to it or he just couldn't do it.

 

‘Her? What her? My daughter? Why is George asking about her?’ Ringo was confused, he didn't know what to think, what to do or what to say. Apparently Ringo's body knew what to do. And Ringo found himself answering the questions.

 

„She's sleeping like an angel. Our angel" and then from out of nowhere, he knew. He knew all of it. The thoughts were coming to him. They had a daughter, little girl. Their little angel who Ringo haf just put to bed after reading her a story about bees and honey.

 

‘Why do i remember this stupid book but not how she looks, what is her name, her favourite coulor?'

 

‘How did we ended up having a daughter? When all of these happened? Can i look at here? Oh i don't know her. I've never had a chance to know her’

 

George smiled at the memory of their child. His body relaxing on a thought about their girl sleeping peacefully in her bed. They didn't broke the eye contact, like if something was going through their eyes. Something unspoken.

 

„What about our son?” another question flew from George's lips to Ringo's ears.

 

‘We have a son. We have a son. We have children. We – me and George have children together’

 

Ringo got a feeling that this boy was a teenager ‘I bet he looks just like George’

 

And he saw in front of him by the eyes of imagination, George that young and innocent George he met in Hamburg. That boy who always was happy to talk him. With a spark in his eyes, eager to discover what world had him to offer. Always ready to crack a joke and with everyday more and more clinging to Ringo.

 

Ringo felt like he was melting, his heart stopped, his brain stopped but his feelings were alive again. Before totally losing control over his body, he managed to say

 

„He's at friend’s house. He has two more hours till you start to worry” Ringo calmed down a bit and so did George. His assuring words about where their boy was at the moment made George more at ease.

 

‘This is incredible, a miracle, we have kids together. Together. With George. I would have never thought’

 

It was the first time that George moved. He pushed himself from the doorway and made a step closer to the bed where Ringo was still laying. With every George's step Ringo felt more warm and more calm inside. The room slowly fading away, all of his attention focusing on that one, the most important person. Ringo felt like he couldn't breath anymore. Like all of the oxygen was sucked up from his lungs.

 

George stopped for a moment next to the bed. All the time the brown eyes looking into the blue eyes. George took a breath and with a smile across his face he said slowly and gently

 

„Richard. You are here"

 

A second didn't pass from that moment when Ringo woke up. He didn't have any energy to get up but he opened his eyes to take a look at the doorway. But he didn't found anybody standing there. He wasn't even in Friar Park anymore. The room was empty and so Ringo's heart. Empty because George wasn't here with him.

 

‘It was a dream. A beautiful dream' he breathed deeply and looked at the bedside table where a photograph was standing. A photograph of him and George. It was taken so many years ago. George was still looking like a little boy. They were smiling, the smile seemed to brighten up everything. They only saw and care about each other, the rest not important at all. The best times, they were young, free and with love in their eyes.

 

‘That's why George was staring into my eyes. The love, he found love in them'

 

Ringo closed his eyes, the photograph was already engraved in his memory. He didn't need to look at it to see George in front of his eyes. George smiling at him.

 

„Ritchie” he heard it. He heard it again. Ringo never told anyone but from a few years he was hearing sometimes George's voice. He was always calling him. Always the same way, always when Ringo was alone.

 

He assumed it was his mind playing tricks on him. His memory failing him, his heart longing for George. But this time, the voice sound different, more real. Because after all those years he forgot, he didn't want to but he forgot the exact sound of George's voice when he was calling him Ritchie. But this one it was something else.

 

Ringo took a breath and after a while he breathed out for the last time in his life.

 

‘George. I am here'