In a heavy British accent he told me, “Look, mate. If it’s not organic, I’m not interested. I don’t want to have to try to be in a relationship. It’s just not worth it.” And as he was finishing that statement, the only thought in my head was you. I had flashbacks of the time you asked me if I wanted to make a pipe bomb just to do it. Or the time you responded with an excited, “Let’s do it!” when I said I wanted to water board each other just to see what it felt like. Or the time that we hiked over two mountains because neither of us could admit that we might have made a wrong turn on the trail. Or the times that we would spin whole narratives out of a single image. You were truly the easiest thing that had ever happened in my life. I didn’t have to try to be anything for you. You saw me for exactly who I was, good and bad. I didn’t have to explain a single thing. Volumes were communicated with a single look. The story of humanity sat in the ether around us. Laughter. Joy. Tears. Tragedy. It was all there. So thick in the air that to mention it would be an offensive grasp. So obvious that its acknowledgment was a concession of one’s own cognitive ability.