You were my second friend on Livejournal. I thought we'd be friends forever. Even though you were a decade younger than I, I looked up to you. You were so cool, savagely funny and you knew all the good classical haiku poets and could discuss them in relationship to Cocteau. You would have made a good lesbian, leather jacket, dorky cap, wifebeater t-shirt, and Brownian-motion harem of all the chillest young women. I dumped my boyfriend when I saw that the crush he had on you was exactly the crush he had on me, and that he really loved me the way you loved friends in college, not like either he or I wanted him to love a wife, and he so obviously wanted a forever partner! Now I don't do boys and neither he nor his wife talk to either of us. When the family of the serial rapist I helped put in prison was threatening my life, everyone gasped and clutched their pearls and told me I was being a bit silly, no-one gets murdered in these civilized modern times. You told me that if anything happened to me, you would take the bitch responsible down. We drank together. I think I knew more about scotch, but I let you fake and you forgave me for spotting it.
I don't talk to you any more. You were intimately enmeshed in the part of my life I feel the most and most justifiable shame for. Everything about that time, especially who I was and what I was, feels completely toxic.
Today, I saw you had deleted that journal. End of an era, compadre. I hope you are doing well. I hope you kept your stories. You were a good writer.
I wish I could forget me, at least from the time I knew you, but I will never forget you, and of that, I am glad.
Je t'aime bien, mon frere. I want to say goodbye, but I know in my gut we'll meet again. I'll be the one in the Dietrich tux.