A while back I wrote about the worst date I’ve ever had, (I’m not even going to link to it, because that’s how much I don’t want to remember it). But I never posted anything about my favorite date, and I feel I need to honor that now.

It wasn’t really a date, or it wasn’t supposed to be. I just went to hang out with a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was one of those friends who you could always count on. Someone who you could always call, for any reason, at any time. Soon, I realized he was more than just a friend.

At some point he had picked up that I loved roasting marshmallows, but was disappointed in the weather because it was just too freakin’ cold to stand outside, (even around a fire). So he had set up an indoor marshmallow roasting. It was more complicated than I would have ever imagined, but he wanted it to be like an authentic roast.

Aside from eating marshmallows, we talked, and talked, and talked. Oh, there were video games, and star gazing, (gay, I know), too. Before I realized it, it was 5am, and I had to sneak back home.

That ‘date’ was the last time I really saw him, it was years ago. Upon moving to Chicago, he called a bit more than usual, and since I was always on a bus or train, I hardly ever got to talk to him. At least texting was an option, we always had time for that, but it just wasn’t the same.

He kept telling me he loved me. I never really told him back. ‘What is the point?’ I thought.

I flew home for Thanksgiving last year, and thought about going to visit him. I didn’t. I didn’t even call him. Probably because I was ‘so busy.’

He died two days after I flew into town.

This time of year always reminds me of him. To you, John, thank you for some of my favorite memories of all time. I miss you, horribly.