I can't believe you're gone. I just saw you last week. I have been running those last few hours over and over in my mind, wondering if I could have done something to keep this from happening to you. When you started to feel sick, should I have forced you to go to the ER instead of letting you talk me down to just a clinic appointment for the next day? If I had known you had diabetes, would I have known it wasn't just a bad bout of stomach flu? Could I have saved you?

While I'll never know the answers to these questions, I do know that what you taught me and what we had together will never be forgotten. I'll always remember pinball at Shorty's and randomly getting to meet John Vanderslice there before his set at the Crocodile. I love that you got your nipples pierced on a dare, just for the hell of it. I don't think I'll ever be able to read Salinger again without thinking of you. I love that it took you four dates and copious amounts of PBR to finally work up enough courage to kiss me. You were the most charming bastard I've ever met. You loved life so much, and you helped me truly start living mine more than you'll ever know. It fucking sucks you won't be along for the ride, but you got me going. Thank you, RIP, and I'll always, always miss you.