Yes, I cried when I wrote this, and yes-it’s about you Sean.

People always find it strange how I remember certain things. Like how I remember the first time I saw you, and knew you were special and going to be important to me, and how I was right. You remember it differently, but I don’t mind, not at all, not even a little bit, because not everyone thinks the way I do. Most of all not you. We are the same in all the ways you claim, but there’s no denying we’re also the opposite. People have looked at us, noting our physical differences first, our opinions and politics second, and carefully cocked their head to the side as they asked the question, “How are you two even friends?”

The truth is, even I’m not entirely sure why. But, I know it has something to do with what we’ve learned from each other. You are always surprised by me and my stories, but I’m always continually surprised by you too. We feed each other that way. Through each others stories. Through the experiences we share with each other and the experiences we’ve had together.

I could bring up many of the nights I held your feet as you drunkenly squirmed into bed, or I could mention how many of my nights you lit up with fancy cocktails and dancing in dive bars. I could also say how proud I am of you, how lucky I am that you decided, somewhere along the line, that I was special and important too. I could even say that our very public arguments over business and politics didn’t make me mad but made me feel the most me I ever felt, or how our talks about the sad and the hard parts of our lives always made me happy. Because you always knew what to say-even if I yelled at you, and even if I pretended you were wrong.

I could, but I won’t because I’ll get too emotional and cry. You always bring up how much I cry. You tell everyone about the time I cried when I saw a small child embracing a small dinosaur, and still to this day don’t understand it. But you understand the part of me that brought me to those tears, and that’s all that really matters.

You won’t be able to call me to pick you up from a suspicious location anymore and then ask me get you chicken. But, you can still call me, and I will pick up, because I will miss you and will want to hear your voice. Because yours is the voice that brings me comfort and anger simultaneously, laughter and tears, and everything in between.

So, I’ll tell you again. You are special and important to me. I still don’t know all the reasons why, but that’s why you have to stick around, so we can figure it out-even if it takes the rest of our lives. Or, at least until you learn how to hem your own pants.


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