To Gianni

I'm in anguish that you're dead. It's almost physical. I always knew, from the moment I read Laura's email, that it was the guilt that would destroy me, and yet knowing that never made it any easier. I still want you back like you were my best friend in the world. You and I have unfinished business. I should have had dinner with you that day you wanted Mongolian beef, and I said I was vegetarian, and that I was having dinner with another friend. I should have invited you to come too. I should have invited you to have dim sum at my graduation party, because I knew how much you loved dim sum. I should have told you I was graduating. I should have said good bye.

I should have been sad that you were unhappy, instead of feeling smug that you needed me more than I needed you.

At first it gave me comfort to see how much your friends loved you and missed you, because they reminded me of what it was like not too long ago, when you were still alive. But then slowly something strange happened. The memories became more remote, more perfect. You became a sublimation. You were flawless, kind and generous and joyful. It's true those were your best qualities, but you were so much more. You were also childish and cowardly and at times a little dumb. You were a real person, just like I am now, still living.

THAT is the person I miss, my friend, the one who kills me by having gone away. The more I read these sublimations, the more palpable it is to me that you are truly dead. It's unbearable. I'd rather pretend like none of this happened, that the goofy coward were still there if I were hungry and wanted a late-night snack. I should have said yes to your late-night taco truck.