If the only proof of our unlikely and purely coincidental friendship is my memory, then it is still proof.
There are no photographs, no facebook posts, no highly significant events, no receipts. There is--was--only our interaction and its memory.
I selfishly wish to keep our conversations (and my observations) to myself, for I wish not to taint the you of my memory. I wish there was more of you in my memory to tell of. But even if there were more conversations, more jokes, to tell anyone else would feel like defilement. I would not be capable of doing you justice.
And you, Brett, with your wit and candor and intelligence, deserve to be done justice.
I know this will not reach you...
Actually, I don't know.
I've never been where you are now. They might have pretty great wifi reception up there...
But I pray you are happy and whole and that the light of your heart has only become brighter. I hope you finally get to touch the stars. I hope you get to live out your version of perfect.
Grief is for those left behind.
For you, I wish you all the happiness the world has failed to give.
See you on the other side.