The night Simon saw me
People talk about love stories. They write songs, books, films… but what happened to me and Gary Paul Costello defies the rules of this world.
It was the desert, late nineties. I pushed myself out of my body — astral projection, spirit travel, call it what you like. One moment I was in Southend on sea Essex curled up in my dad’s house. The next, I was standing in the middle of a canvas tent in the army camp. Flesh. Real. Touchable. Sand clinging to my feet.
And Simon saw me.
Simon — half Chinese, Gary’s mate, solid as a rock in the unit. His eyes went wide, his mouth dropped, and I panicked. I thought I’d ruined us, that Gary would be dragged into a court martial because of me. I whispered, “Please don’t dob me in, Simon. I love him so much. I can’t stay away.”
And Simon didn’t laugh. Didn’t run. He crouched down and said, “Don’t worry, Deb. I won’t breathe a word. He needs you. I can see it.”
From that day on, Simon was our shield. He carried our secret like a brother. And I carried sand home in my hair and in my sheets, proof that this wasn’t just dream or madness — it was real.
Astral love. Flesh and spirit. Risk and ruin. And somehow, it kept us both alive.
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