The last comprehensible dream I’d ever have again of Landon was at the end of the year during the month of December, set in a track and field area where a race was being held.

Another race huh, I thought. I was sure I’d be running again. There was no doubt about it.

He bent down to reach my height. “The race is over,” he whispered.

A short shiver and a slight tingle occupied my mind. I felt the warmth of his breath. My eyes shut for a second and when they opened, I gained back my focus. I searched the area with my eyes; I hadn’t heard the winner of the race.

“Come on, Georgie!” Called a voice I hadn’t heard in so long.

“Go ahead,” Landon egged me on, his head nodding forward.

I took a surprising step as he had intended me to.

The owner of the familiar voice led me away through booths and stalls propped up for the event. Was this a fair? She didn’t speak, and I just followed.

I thought at the time, each booth seemed unique despite the blurry scenes whizzing by me. Nothing registered in complete detail. It wasn’t until we arrived by the art booth did my surroundings sharpen.

“Is this yours?” Landon, now seated on the other side of the booth, grinned as he handed me a large black-bound sketchbook.

I shook my head, “no.”

“Look inside,” I thought I heard him say when he placed it in my hands.