Dear, dear Veronica,
I miss you so so much. With every day that goes by, I miss you more. Every new experience, every disappointment, every joy, serves as a reminder of how absent my life is without your colorful presence.
This year you would be thirty years old. It’s hard to imagine what you would have been doing, or where you would be or who you’d be with. Would you have a house? Would you have children? Would you have run away from it all and lived off the grid on some Polynesian island? I couldn’t say, and it’s useless to attempt to imagine these truly impossible things. But I can’t say that I don’t imagine us, still, spending time together, or wondering what thoughtful words you’d use to comfort me in my latest struggle, or what silly thing we’d laugh about for an hour. I still take pictures with my eyes when I see beautiful things. When I see something that inspires me, my mind automatically goes directly to you, and thus it is evident that you are the human sum of inspiration to me. When I see something inspiring–a hypnotizing sunset or an impossibly perfect pattern in nature–I realize that these moments are as close as I can get to you now.
I wrote another song about you recently. I think you’d like it. It doesn’t attempt to veil the heartache or turn it into a lesson–it is plain and direct, and for this reason I hesitate to reveal it to your parents. For me, it felt good to be able to turn those feelings into something audible and in it’s own specific packaging. Right now I feel a bit tired of it…but I am looking forward to sharing it nonetheless, and hopefully it can find a place in the lives of others, to heal and inspire, the same way that you found a place in mine.
I’ll never be as graceful as you or as compassionate as you. I grow more and more certain, as the years go by and I witness and experience more and more with others, that you were truly the best friend that anyone could ever have. I always knew that I was spoiled to have you, and I’ve always known that no one could come close to taking your place, but I’ve now begun to realize that you weren’t just a best friend to me but a best friend to the world. You had so much love for everyone and everything that you could hardly contain it.
I love you so much. Thank you for teaching me that it doesn’t have to be scary to say that. And I hope that one day, when the light fades and a new light arises, that I will see you there to welcome me, and we can ride the clouds into a new horizon.