I once had a friend (at one time he was much more than a friend) who made me feel more alive than anyone I've ever known. It might have been the timing--I was young, and invincible, and ready to tie the world up in a kerchief and sling it over my shoulder. But the way he looked at me made me beautiful. And the way he talked to me made me interesting. And the way he touched me made me real.

The "relationship" part of our relationship didn't last long--no more than a month at the most. We had very different goals and ambitions (in that I actually had goals and ambitions) and we also had very different ideas of what it meant to be faithful to one another. But the real part of our relationship lasted for years. He saved me when John F. destroyed me during college--quit his job, dropped everything, and spent the only money he had on an airplane ticket to come rescue me from myself. And then he stayed with me, literally wrapped himself around me, until I was ready to go on. He disappeared for a few years and then reappeared unexpectedly in Austin. I was at his wedding and he was at mine. Davy and I sometimes took care of his beautiful son. And then he and K split up (I'm guessing it was that faithfulness thing again). And then he was gone. I realized tonight that it's been close to five years since I've heard from him. I miss Jeff. But mostly I miss the me I was when I knew him.