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For Greg

Dear Greg,

You christened me “Sprig” upon meeting me at 17.

I told you my worst fears were “heights and my mother dying.”

Well, she did die, and I survived, but strangely you didn’t.

I made you dance with me that night, which you let me know was a rare occurrence.

And ever after, our meetings were shorthand appreciation societies,

Accountability soirees.

As if to see (amidst the coded banter and perpetual disapproval of boyfriends)

Are you falling for the illusions of this world?

Or are you staying true to yourself?

We both went off the deep end at different times.

I’m sad to say that yours made me wary,

But you never batted an eye at mine.

Said it made me more real.

Oh Nurse,

How do we navigate this wacky world without your cockeyed perspective on it?

Some called me “Nurse” in college because I had a way of making sense out of madness and calming people down.

You did the exact opposite, and it was the perfect medicine.

Thank you, aptly named friend.

They say your true friends will know more about you in the first minute you meet

than your acquaintances will know you in a thousand years.

You were brilliant at this.

Thank you for spotting me (and everyone in your eclectic circle) from a hundred yards away.

They also say,

“Do not be dismayed at goodbyes.

Meeting again, after moments or lifetimes,

is certain for those who are friends.”

Greg, I can’t wait.

Till then,

Love you.

Your Sprig.


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