I wasn't sure if what I felt for you was genuine, or if it was superficial feelings of comfort and the natural attachment that grows with the consistency of a mere person's presence.

I think of you. And wonder if you’re dead or alive, alive but dead. I can’t even remember which memory was the last time that I saw you.

With you, there was no power play, no ambivalent dynamics, no agenda. It was a simple relationship that had space for meaningful connection.

In the early days, you would often say, “You can be comfortable or courageous. You can’t be both.” And for the last six years, I’ve lived that mantra.