As It Stands...

In a desire to poetically commence this blog, I feel I should make some reference to the weather outside or the type of day it is. However the truth is, I’m currently at work and have no idea what the outside looks like. It could be sunny as a spring day or dreary as a late-winter afternoon.

All I know is I’m sitting here streaming a live concert of a recent musician I’ve discovered from a website which his friend referred me to. The concert is great and reminds me of my dear friend. A friend whose direct influence in my life has far waned from the intensity of the past but whose longevity of influence I believe will be extensively lived in my life. To you, this blog is about.

One day I met a boy. I don’t forget the day I noticed him, walked up the stairs to him, and sat down beside him for the duration of the class. He was life. Everything else is fuzzy.

We became quick friends and it didn’t take long before I respected him in a way I respected few in this world. The way I knew I could respect few in this world. The way I respect him still.

He was an amazing teacher. I learned to philosophize. I learned to defend. I learned how to listen.

He was passionate. I was moved on many occasions. Moved by the spirit. Moved by music. Moved to love.

Then one day I hurt him. And he hurt me. And never was there pain in the world the way I felt from him. From his actions. From his teachings. From his absence. My heart and definitely soul has never recovered.

The wounds continue even now to heal. Yet three years later, I still grieve for him.

While listening to this amazing musician performing an amazing little concert, my mind is on one thing. Him. I miss his wit. I miss his intellect. I miss his hugs. I miss his compassion. I miss HIM.

I miss the only person I’ve ever turned to in all the honesty I had to give then and miss giving him the honesty I have learned to give now. I miss my Friend.

There have been so many times I wish he could see me now. I have learned so much as his feet and so much since then. He has moved once more placing thousands of miles between us.

Having met a variety of people in a variety of places, there remains one man to whom I wish I could return and give an accounting of my experiences to. He should know I’m making a list to one day share should the opportunity ever again present itself.

Though the accolades strangely resemble an obituary, ironically it is because he has found life again, HIS life again, that I write this. He is my Boy. He is my Superhero. He is the "beloved one."