well, in five years' time, i might not know you

And I don't.
And I didn't, really.
And not that well.
And maybe I did.
And I talked to you.
And I befriended you.
And I wished that you would think of me often.
And I cried over you.
And I lost it over you. And by lost it, I think I mean religion. I think I mean faith in organized...faith.

And five years later and one-and-a-half weeks ago, I remembered you. I remembered you in full. I remembered you not as a fading, sepia-toned photograph, but as a moving video that tried to jump a dry creek bed that was far too wide on his bike and failed; as a color picture of a man standing on top of a mountain, his arms raised high in triumph and relief; as a voice like a lazy river that masked the rushing rapids that constantly sought adventure; as a spirit that never rested, when maybe it should have every night.

And five years later and one week ago, there was a huge thunderstorm and a torrential downpour. And it was glorious.

And you don't haunt me. You never did.

And I never did anything that I'd promised you I'd do, but life never goes exactly as we plan it, does it? Especially not in this day and age, especially not this day and at my age, at your age. So that's okay.

Okay.

And you should get some rest, dear spirit.