**I want to preference this by stating I will not be following any sort of correct sentence structure. This isn’t an essay, this isn’t a “piece”. This is a coping mechanism. I slip in and out of conversational writing, and narrative speech. The overuse of the word "I" will be rampant in this. I realize I am a hypocrite for this. I’ve lampooned people for doing exactly what I’m about to do. Write to someone who will never have the chance to read it. But, I’ve always been a hypocrite... so, I’ll proceed. **

       Anger,confusion ,despair and delusion. The four emotions I keep flipping through. The AC/DC current that is pulsing through my brain. My brain which has been plagued with a flood of memories. Memories I managed to keep stored in some distant, far off section in the back of my mind. The mental closet where I keep all my “old friends”. All the people whom I’ve either left, or have left me. It’s a section I rarely have nerve enough to explore, whether due to my own narcissistic views on reality. Or due to the pain which some of those “happy” memories cause me to feel... They remain behind a locked door, in the furthest parts of my psyche. And that door blew wide open after hearing the short, informal and incomplete sentence of “Ian died.” 

      I could feel my head get lighter. The blood in my body became like an ocean wave.... Flushing to every point it could. My fingers became numb, and my eyes got wide. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that level of confusion before... Since, I had not spoken to you in almost a full year. And the last conversation we had wasn’t so pleasant. I was so angry with you. Angry for disappearing on me. Angry over decisions you were making. Just angry at life in general. I was blunt in speaking. And I was severe. In our entire 6 (or so, I’m not doing math right now) year friendship you had never been so distant. And it made me step back and pull away. But none of that matters now. Nothing negative that took place between us does. Things that seemed so important before, is now nothing more than trivial bullshit. I saw you at least once a week for several years and what I really enjoyed was the feeling that I was passing on some sort of "wisdom". Now, this may come as a shock but to most myself and "wisdom" don't really go hand in hand. No one looks at me and thinks "I bet he (or she, let's be real) is FULL of knowledge and know how". But I do know a little something about life. I've been around, and I know what to avoid, and what to get involved with. Whether it was helping you to navigate through your sea of female admirers, or teaching you about the importance of "Luxury goods". Like that time when I gave you my old  Hermes “MC² Copernic”, and told you the history behind it. Explaining how it was a good luck charm for years. And how I felt you’d benefit from it being yours.... You were always invested in learning. “More luxe. More life.”...

     The further into the closet of memories we go, the deeper they get. I remember helping you with your college essay. Proof reading some of your reports, and helping to fix minor errors. You were a smart boy, and you didn’t really much help. I think you just wanted to be double sure that all your t's were crossed and i's dotted.

     I remember bringing you to Woodbury to get your birthday gift. And you being up tight to ask for something expensive.. You never took advantage of my kindness. Which would have been easy, since it's the emotion I display least... Where as most of the miscreant losers I surround myself with wouldn’t have had second thoughts about asking for a 200 dollar marked down, clearance Givenchy T-shirt. You were caring. And thoughtful. You knew the value of money, and what it took to earn it. Even when I didn't care. Christ, you were even hesitant to order steak for lunch since I was paying. I remember leaning across the table and whispering to you “... we’re at Applebee’s (the only place to eat in Woodbury at the time), not Peter Luger's, order the fucking steak. I can swing the 20 bucks”. Teaching you about “fashion” was fun for me. Whether it was explaining that “Marc Jacobs is actually the designer for Vuitton” or helping you pick the proper clothes for a “Gatsby” themed party.. I gave you tons of “hand me downs”, in reality I was just too fat to look decent in them, some things still had tags attached. From Moschino oversized T’s, to Givenchy biblical prints. You were my go to boy for “I don’t want this anymore.”... You never asked for anything. So you got first dibs on everything. 

     I remember the last time we saw each other. You texted me at around 11:30, saying “I’m coming over. Do you want anything from McDonalds?” ... And during that hangout, we talked about a lot. Your future. My life... You expressed an interest in becoming a real estate agent. And we mulled over the pros and cons, mostly pros. It was also during that discussion where you explained your desire to leave school. And how I wasn’t exactly in love with that concept. But we also talked about how you were your own man and the only person whose opinion mattered was yours. I had zero understanding that that would be the last time we saw each other. It would be the last time we punched each other on the back when we hugged goodbye. The last time I tapped the roof of your car as you drove off. That last time I would hear your actual voice... The last of a lot... After that, we sort of drifted apart...I blamed you, mainly because it was your fault. You disappeared and I “moved on”... After a few months, I realized how much I missed you, and our friendship. And being a part of the navigational team that was helping to guide your life... But by then it seemed to be too late. Any messages I sent went unread. Any DM’s, unreturned.. So eventually I gave up. I've never been the loser in a situation and I wasn't about to start then. Begging people to be a part of my life who display lack of interest is not something I partake in. Now, in hindsight I would give anything to go back and hound you. To pester my way back in. I wish I had been more annoying. 

     It was a full year before I reached out again, and this time you did reply. You apologized for the person you had recently become, expressed remorse for certain actions I was unaware took place. And said you’d like to call me soon, so we could have one of our classic heart to hearts.. I sent you my number and waited for you to "sort shit out". The call never happened. And again, I was left bitter and annoyed... I’ll never have the ability to take back the things I said to you during my last message. Not that I didn’t mean the words I used. I did. I meant every word of it. But looking back on it, from my baroque desk chair, it’s all things I could have kept to myself. All things that didn’t really matter in the long run. We shared no mutual friends, not even any acquaintances towards the end. So the only information I had to go by was the information you gave me in our last interactions. You never lied to me about anything. But you would keep information from me which you knew I would be disapproving of. You knew what would bother me, and what wouldn't. You cared enough to protect our friendship and my opinion of you. Even though it wouldn't have changed. You knew all of my scumbag behaviors, and it didn’t change your opinion of me  

     I remember you being supportive. A lot of my “friends” didn’t even read my essays or articles. You read every single link I sent you. Offering your opinions and views. You made sure I knew you really read it. You’d quote things, and tell me which parts you thought were funny, or too far over the line. You helped me be a little more of a human to those who I was so heavily seeking to destroy. At times I felt like you were older than I was. Bringing me back to reality, when I was off on some random war path. "You might want to take this part out. You're going to get sued for saying this".. I think it was your way of “paying me back” for those high school essays. Whether it was a drunk 3am phone call about how “(Name redacted) wouldn’t stop calling you” or a 2pm phone call from the road, just to see how I was and to tell me some random story about a customer you encountered. Once you called to tell me about, what I can only describe as a crack whore, kept hitting on you.. You called me “Brister” which was a mix of brother and sister, which I always thought was funny. I was your brother when I would do things like give you a 200 count box of condoms I was sent by a sponsor. And I was your sister when I would do things like fix your finger nails or tell you that “blotting sheets aren’t only for girls”. I’ll forever miss seeing our picture pop up on my phone, and hearing your signature voice on the other end.

The last night we saw each other

     Most of all knew you when to shut up and listen. When to take your lumps and how to take criticism. You understood when I called you "retarded" or a "moron" it was because I loved you. And that I did. I loved the fuck out of you Ian. You will be the closest thing to a little brother I will ever have.. I honestly think I remember every word you ever said to me. And I will keep them all locked in that closet. In the back of my mind. Hidden in my brain.

I love you kid.  My dog misses you.