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Childlike, I danced in a dream.


I still can’t write to your parents and tell them what I want to say about your odd buttoned shirt and your carrot cakes. There is a long autumn ahead. I think I killed you by proxy and I can’t stop thinking it. 

When you knew how unhappy I was and you figured out it was my “half birthday” and showed up at my house with a carrot cake you’d baked for me and we went and ate it in the cemetery.

When you crashed my school prom by virtue of wearing an undone bow tie (see above) and I kept on spilling your drinks and finding it hilarious and drunkenly demanded that you go and wee on the building where I used to have maths and you willingly did so.

When you came up to visit me in my first term and wore absolutely horrendous long johns and drank a bottle of gin and threw up in the toilets of 5th av until you heard Lady Gaga come on and we did one of our ridiculous and over dramatic dances and when the song finished you ran straight off directly back to the boys bathroom to throw up some more and afterwards asked us if we were going to the pub.

When you used to send me random letters with plasters in them for a reason I never knew.

When I came to visit you and we created a game where we had to act out charades to Patrick Wolf and then drunkenly went to your college canteen with a tin of anchovies.

When we pissed every single grumpy dull stuck up hip late twenty something year olds that New Year we went to the Old Blue by dancing so enthusiastically we knocked over three tables and about a hundred pounds worth of booze.

When we both went to a Noah’s Arc party in April among the birds and the lions and the cats as bats and you found blood capsules that we both bit into and followed this with a swig of vodka that made you run into the kitchen to spit it out and to everyone who didn’t know it looked like you were throwing up some horrible bloody stomach bile.

When my only form of contact with you, but a good form indeed, was an exchange of terrible terrible puns that we texted each other every few days. (Me: “I made a soup yesterday from scratch, it was chowder this world!” You: “Miso proud.”)

When we used to split a bottle of Jaegermeister between us every Saturday until ‘Jaeger Night 2009’ which resulted in me passing out on a tube at 10.30 p.m. and you losing your vision in one eye the next day.

When you had spent about four months trying to guess the password to my phone and when you finally said with indifference, “It’s probably something ridiculous like your dog” to which my face revealed my mortification and your face revealed your cheeky childlike glee and delight and simultaneous shock.

When I thought that it wasn’t humanly possible to feel worse than I did five weeks ago yesterday until I found out that I had lost my best friend and my brother and one of if not the most important friendship I’ve ever had.

I remember this time last year when I was in one of my seemingly endless periods of blue. I had spent all of my energy trying to hide it, but you could somehow see right through me. It is weird to think how one of the most touching and poignant moments I have ever experienced of human kindness was outside the grotty loo in which I had just rubbed away the sticky mascara dust left from my toilet tears, but you met me with a cup of tea and a cigarette, and the promise that it would be okay, and that you would be there for me, and that it would end. It was an unexpected act, but it wasn’t anything unexpected from you.

I somehow always naively and hopefully believed that if I could wake you up at four in the afternoon with enough cups of tea, and if I could make you laugh enough, and if you could only ride it out, that your whole life’s endless period of blue would melt away and that one day it would end for you too. It was an unexpected act, but it wasn’t anything unexpected from you.

To my lovely pal, Tim, I feel like it will always feel like two weeks ago since it didn’t end for you.