I hate that I miss you.
You were only in my life really for about a year. I knew you before, but as passing friends. We had about 10 hours of conversation saved up over the five years that we knew each other existed, and about 5 hours of that was sarcastic quips and mockery. We started talking more after we both left hospital and discovered that we had sickness in common.
You were my unicorn. I had not heard, at the time of our meeting, anyone else who had ever lived with viral meningoencephalitis. Not to belabour the point, but to find someone in my circle who had survived the first year within my circle was absolutely mind blowing. I can not express how important just knowing anyone else who was diagnosed was.
I am not saying we are the same in any way. You would hate that. You always expressed how comparison of sickness was pointless, and I carry that idea with me to this day. You would be proud of the idea that I haven’t done so since you last talked to me about how pointless it was.
The last conversation we had, we laughed about how messed up the world is. We seemed to share an appreciation for the humour that comes with this life. You were part of the inspiration for my continued writing.
Anyway, it would be ironic if I used your passing back in November for advertising. To push your name as a banner for my book is the most horrible and disrespectful thing ever. That is why I have not mentioned your name up to this point, and I won’t by the end of this post. I promise. That is the least I could do.
I did, however, dedicate the book to you. To your family. To your friends.
I am re-releasing the first one, fixed up and not as horrible. I am putting all the short stories I had released before the turn of the decade in a form you could have read. That I wanted you to read.
You always gave me shit for not having them in print. I hope this is a decent dedication to your memory.
Happy Birthday.
plain text. 