A Random Image

Remember? Remember how we’re in on the joke, and everybody else is so stupid and they don’t get it at all? Uh-hmmm.

So yeah, you’ve been on my mind all day, and I don’t know if this date is somehow cosmically significant for you and me. I would have to explore the past, and all the relics of it aren’t readily available to me right now, though I wish they were….

I wish they were, because suddenly and out of nowhere I miss you immensely. I want to hear your chuckle, want to hear you say that all is as well as well could possibly be fathomed, I want you to catch me up on the goings-on. I miss the stubborn, begrudging grace of your words when you think no one is paying attention, when you think nobody but nobody fucking gets it (ahhh, the big ‘it’, my friend), when you are purposely being mean and trying to piss me off but I simply refuse to allow such nonsense.

I guess that in its own silly way, this is a love letter to you. To some people, the notion of a love letter to a friend is a discomfiting one at best. To most people it’s unfathomable, penning a missive of warmth and devotion as homage to a relationship that is decidedly platonic, one that always has been and always will be nothing more. Not because we had to struggle with batting away some sort of sexual attraction, but because what we are is just enough as we are. It’s simple: I think of you, and affection wells up in me; it is a great, harmless passion that says simply, “I love this person. I love him so much that I wish we had known one another from the bassinet.” I see us clinking glasses (yours cradles fine scotch, mine happily holds cheap wine), snuggling down on the sofa together, watching movies and saying wry, snide things about a ream of topics simple and sublime.

I recall the way in the past that we soothed one another’s sense of hopelessness, each (haplessly enough) unaware of that fact at the time, and the immediate connection that existed between us despite the odds to the contrary….oh, you Hopeful Cynic and oh, me with my Keep Off, World! Stance.You have long been a crush, albeit one sans romantic over(orevenunder)tones. You know, like the kid with the muddy Chucks and the scowl on the playground who pretends not to court the attentions of the pigtailed, bouncy girl who just wants to be around him. Whispered secrets in a treehouse. Bug-catching and bully cursing. I-don’t-care-if-we-drink-after-one-another,-just-give-the-mouth-of-the-soda-bottle-a-swipe-before-passing-it-back. Mutual unspoken admiration. Pals.

Friends. Soul-connecting, I’ma-wait-on-the-roof, I’ll-pull-you-outta-the-bar-before-you-get-too-loud, helped-me-along-by-just-being-you, you-understood-in-six-words-or-less buddies. Damned if I know how these fucking things happen, but aren’t we so very lucky that they do?

So yeah, I miss you. Send word, old chum, and don’t fucking be a stranger.

At least not any stranger than you already be, ar-ar. Pfft. I’m certainly one to talk.

1 worked it out »

  1. The Dane 5.13.2004



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