In a lifetime,
you make 396 friends,
but only 1 out of 12 friendships lasts.
I knew this was a friendship to last
the moment you said
“Metaphysics is romantic.”
That kind of thinking
probably gives you those thoughts
that nag you,
day in and out,
just like the floating ideas,
that keep me up at night.
We spoke of things
that blew our minds,
while using Mr. Poop in the chat box.
We grasped baffling dreams
and the possibility of trading memories
to remember and forget.
We would talk about whether
everything is pointless
or everything is meaningful,
with the conclusion that
we all die in the end.
Yeah, 10 out of 10 people die by death anyway.
You told me about how
you could build a tower
from all the Kratos cans you’ve drank from,
how green eyes could attack you,
and people can transport themselves
ingeniously through closets.
I asked if you believed in mermaids or aliens
’cause I sometimes felt like an alien,
no, more like a humanoid,
and you showed me some data,
something you called work,
so I decided we were both out of this world.
I would share my war stories
about flying roaches and rats
and you would loyally bury the dead with me
if I ever bludgeoned the little things,
yet the likes of us are peace-keepers,
no matter how much we burn inside.
It’s been what?
14 months, a week, and 5 days
since you first sent me a message.
I still anticipate your late night texts
about how you’re never drinking again
and wait for the next one.
Some doctors say,
not having any friends,
can be dangerous to your health.
I remember when you said,
“Hi, I wrote this for my friend. “
And life didn’t seem so bad after all.
You told me the song
that accurately described me was
“For a pessimist, I’m pretty optimistic”
Well, I have much better odds
of surviving this existential chaos
Because hey, I have a friend like you.