Until today, I had felt no desire to visit the house he had left.  I could see no point in going there when there would never again be a chance of seeing him. -But today I had needed to feel closer to him, and here was the one place I had always felt closest to him, so memories would have to be enough to sustain me.

    I kept on walking and eventually the house was visible through the mist.  The air was heavy and damp and all was silent. My heart pounded in my ears.  Strange that the old feeling of excitement and anticipation was still within me, even though he was no longer here.  There was no longer any hope, but still my dreams would not die. I finally reached the first gate, set in the high old brick wall.  I was pleased to see that it had not changed, the green paint and white writing were still the same.  I walked on, past the wall, and turned the corner into the side alley.  I climbed the steps of the next house, which enabled me to see over the high wall.  My heart constricted with the familiarity of what I saw.  Nothing had changed; nothing.  The garden was just as it had always been at this time of year, then my gaze skimmed across it to the living room window.  I had seen him there once, wearing a white towelling robe, and he had seen me looking at him over the wall.  I had been afraid of how he might react, but, as unpredictable as ever, his handsome face had broken into a huge smile and he had waved to me. He had looked so very beautiful, with those twinkling brown eyes, glossy black hair and tanned skin.  His teeth had gleamed bright-white when he smiled broadly, dazzling me, captivating me.  What a moment that had been.
 
    I had spent so many wonderful moments here; glimpsing him through the windows, seeing him in the garden, even having photos taken with him twice when he came out into the street. Perhaps it was an invasion of his privacy, but I never meant any harm and always respected his property.  I could not resist coming here, even though it was sometimes painful to only be able to stand outside, standing alone at the threshold of a life I could never share. I never wanted to leave when I came here. Walking away was like leaving the comfort of a warm embrace.  I always left something behind, something I needed to make me feel whole, to make me feel safe.
 
    It had been the same when he died. Something was missing inside me, something which had made me feel alive, which had fed my dreams and given me so much hope.   Like a dying rose, that ‘something’ inside me had withered and faded, and I knew that the beautiful feeling would never live again without him.  I would never rediscover the part of my soul which had died when he had died.  It was gone forever, as he was gone forever, and sometimes the pain and the intense feeling of loss were almost too much to bear. I noticed now that the living room curtains were exactly the same, and even the ornaments on the piano had not been replaced.
 
    I lifted my gaze to the window above, hesitantly, reluctantly. That was his bedroom, the room which had witnessed his last breath.  Oh how I wish I could have been inside that room with him, to share his last moments. How precious it would have been, - and yet, how helpless I would have felt...
 
    Suddenly, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye.  I looked round and was startled to see someone standing there, but as I slowly recognised the man’s face, my heart leapt to my mouth and I sat down abruptly on the steps. My heartbeat was deafening me, my mind numbed with shock, and I could neither move nor speak.  I knew that it could not be him, as surely as I knew that it was.
 
    "I'm sorry," he murmured, "I startled you."
 
    My mouth moved, but still I could not utter any words.  He took a step backwards, mistaking my shock for fear.
 
    "Please, don't be afraid." He said gently.
 
    "Freddie?" I finally whispered.
 
    His deep, dark, twinkling eyes smiled at me.
 
    "Yes." He nodded slowly.  The reality of the moment hit me and my hand flew to my mouth.
 
    "My God ..." I breathed, drinking in the sight of him.  His glossy black hair was slicked back and his skin was as tanned and smooth as ever.  He was wearing pale blue jeans with a bright red suede jacket and white T-shirt.  He was clean-shaven, and those incredible warm liquid-golden eyes watched me as I gaped at him.  I stood up slowly, longing to convince myself he was really here.  As if hearing my turbulent thoughts, he said gently,
 
    "It's OK, touch me.  I'm here."
 
    I walked down the steps and stopped on the bottom one, so that my eyes were level with his. Reverently, I raised my hand to the side of his handsome face, half expecting to feel nothing but air against my palm.  But my heart swelled with love as I felt his warm skin on my hand.  The world stood still as I looked into his eyes, drowning in their exotic beauty, transfixed and mesmerised, feeling their magnetic pull and losing myself in them.
 
    Then, without hesitation I threw my arms around his shoulders, holding on as if I would never let him go, burying my face in his neck and muttering unintelligible words of love in his ear. This was how I had always longed to hold him, and nothing would stop me now.  I had such an intense feeling of belonging, as if I had finally come home. And, gently unfurling like a new rose deep within my soul, I felt the magical return of the unmistakable ‘something’ which had been absent from my heart for a whole year.  It engulfed me, enclosed me, held me, filled me; and I was complete again. His hand stroked my back comfortingly and there was good humour in his voice as he said,
 
    "OK, take it easy."
 
    I slowly pulled away and looked at him with slight embarrassment, muttering,
 
    "Sorry.. ."
 
    "It's OK," he said immediately, and held out his hand.
 
    "Come on, let's go inside."
 
    I took his hand and felt his long slender fingers close around mine.  We walked around the wall and he opened the main gate with a gentle push.  As we walked along the stone path, he saw me looking at the flowers and trees and asked,
 
    "Does it appear different from here, as opposed to peering over the wall?"
 
    I blushed and his eyes smiled at my discomfort.
 
    "You must have spent hours outside these walls. I saw you so often.  It must have been freezing out here in the Winter!"
 
    "Yes," I replied,  "but it was worth it, just to see you occasionally."
 
    His intense eyes met mine and I had to drop my gaze.  Walking hand in hand with this man assaulted my senses just as I always imagined it would...  My head felt giddy, and my cheeks flushed every time he looked my way. When we reached the front door, he opened that too with a gentle push.  We stepped inside and he closed the door, releasing my hand.  I felt bereft. But then curiosity took over as I realised I was finally in the house I had longed to be in.  How often I  had dreamed how it would be to step inside these walls, and now I was here, with the man of my dreams beside me.
 
    "Come through to the kitchen."
 
    He said, and I followed silently, noticing every shelf, every ornament every detail along the way.
 
    "Tea?" He offered.
 
    I accepted and had to stifle the impulse to giggle as the absurd unreality of Freddie Mercury standing in his own kitchen offering me a cup of tea hit home.  This was crazy! I walked over to where he stood, plugging in the kettle.
 
    "Freddie?" I began tentatively and he raised his perfect eyebrows the way he always did when he was listening.
 
    "How can this be?  You ... you passed away; how can you be here with me now, so real? How is it possible?"
 
    "Ooh, so many questions, my dear!" I trembled as he leaned towards me, nudging me playfully.
 
    "Be careful ... I might tell you the answers! Now, go through to the living room while I make the tea, there's a dear."
 
    I was sitting on the big soft sofa, when he came in with the tea tray, placed it on the coffee table and sat down beside me.
 
    "I expect you've spent countless hours sitting at that piano." I commented.
 
    "Oh yes." He replied excitedly.  "Shall I play something for you?"
 
    "Yes please!"
 
    He began to play, and sang the most moving rendition of ‘Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow’ I could ever hope to hear.  At first he sang to me, looking into my eyes; and then he began to lose himself in the passion of the music. My heart swelled and swayed with every chord, my eyes filled with tears at the beauty of his voice and the turbulent passion he poured into every note.
 
    In the past year, I had not played his records as often as I used to; it only seemed to enhance the sense of loss and grief inside my dying heart. And now I realised what I had been missing.  By almost removing his beautiful music from my life, I could never have gained anything.  I needed his voice to sustain me, to make me strong again.  As he ended the song, the tears spilled uncontrollably from my eyes.  He sat on the piano stool, his hands on his knees, watching me intently for a moment, for all the world as if he had known these tears would come.  Then he stood up, towering above me for a moment, and held out both his hands.  I took them and stood up, gazing at him desperately through my tears.
 
    "I ... I've missed you so much." I stammered, all inhibitions thrown to the wind, and suddenly he pulled me against him and held me tightly.
 
    "It's OK," he murmured against my ear, "I'm here. I'll always be with you.  Don't cry, darling, don’t cry."
 
    But his kind words made me cry all the more as I clung to him, wishing I could stay in his arms forever and ever.  When my tears finally stopped flowing, he pulled me down to sit next to him on the sofa, and enclosed one of my hands in both of his.
 
    "When people leave us," he said, his voice like velvet, "we sometimes close out the good times as well as the bad, because we think it will protect us from pain.  But darling, it doesn't work that way.  We need the memories of good times to help us go on. When you miss me, all you have to do is hear my voice and I'll be with you, just as I am now." His warm artistic hands cupped my face.
 
    "You're a believer." He smiled.  "Your love for me is strong, I have always known that.  And now you know that I know, you will find your way back to happiness.  Believe in love, my dear; true love never dies."
 
    My heart nearly stopped when he pulled my face to his and kissed me on the lips.  It was the sweetest kiss I have ever experienced; so innocent, and yet more emotionally intimate than anything I have ever known.  Our hearts and souls intertwined in an irreversible union, linked forever, inseparable. His eyes twinkled at me warmly when he ended the kiss, and I was floating on a sweet cloud of ecstasy.
 
    All at once, weak Autumn sun rays flooded through the windows and bathed his beautiful tanned face in an equally golden glow; he truly took my breath away.  He looked up at the sky and the sun glinted in his deep brown eyes.  The mist outside had totally cleared; it could almost have been Springtime.
 
    "It's time to go." He said.
 
    "So soon?" I asked, my heart sinking, and yet I knew it was no use protesting.
 
    "Come." He said gently, taking my hand again. The sun was bright as we walked down the garden path and reached the gate. He opened it and said,
 
    "Look after yourself, my dear.  Be happy."
 
    Then he was about to shut the gate between us.
 
    "Wait!" I cried, and, taking all my courage in both hands, I kissed his soft, full lips once more.
 
    "I love you," I murmured, "always."
 
    He raised his arms, spread his hands and replied,
 
    "True love never dies!"
 
    Then, from somewhere behind him, he produced a perfect, beautiful, deep red rose, kissed its delicate petals, smiled broadly and handed me the rose. Then he closed the gate, and was gone.