probably a metaphor

That was the first of 3 times I would visit you in life. Shortly after I arrived, you got a DUI and your parents made you come live with them in Oklahoma. We spent a couple days smoking marijuana and having amazing sex in every room of your apartment before I got a text inviting me to spend the night in Moundsville State Penitentiary, which is supposedly one of the most haunted places in the US. I asked if you were interested in a spontaneous road trip and you were DOWN.

Looking back, this was a foundational trait we shared. That eagerness to give in and follow opportunities like that isn't something that many people share, especially not after a day or two together. Another was the struggle. I cut. You had trichtillomania. You pulled your own hair out. I saw your bald spot and you instantly grew fearful and embarrassed, but you fell apart when you saw I didn't fault you for it. I understood you completely.

I want you to know that. That stands true then, and it stands true now. You're beautiful.

We ended up driving around for a few weeks. Maybe a month. We went up to Moundsville, and then couchsurfed in Myrtle Beach. My car broke twice-- once, the muffler fell off and was repaired by a kind mechanic who saw that he could not squeeze water from a stone, and I got a flat tire in NC, so we ended up crashing with your conservatory friends nearby.

It became an impromptu party that night, where everyone but me was trained in classical guitar and drank craft beer. At one point, I sipped the IPA that had been given to me while you guys fiddled with different modes, and I said. "You guys sound really good. Do you know any Nickelback?" The party instantly stopped while all the guys there judged me. You cackled as the grinch-like grin spread across my face, and your friends realized I was cool.

Once that summer in 2009, you went on this gorgeous rant about how the stars in the sky are just astronomically huge explosions-- balls of fire beyond mortal comprehension. You were in AWE of the stars.

That summer was magical and honestly, I fell in love with you. I knew we wouldn't be together because of the sheer distance, but I wondered if perhaps we might work out one day. You felt like my second half in so many ways.

I wouldn't see you again until a few years later, when your family visited your grandmother in Beaufort, NC. You mentioned it to me, and I came down again. You'd been miserable in the midwest. They drink more out there, and you'd already been wrestling with alcohol and drug abuse alone, but now that you were more isolated than ever before, you had started drinking more. I met your parents, a kind, friendly doctor who I got along with quickly, and an obese, anxious mother who reminded me of my own.

You were still witty, still funny, still charming. We still communicated in funny faces and noises, and sprinkled our otherwise high-flying philosophical talks with silliness. Walking that balance with someone else is difficult, and we spent days talking and sharing music... but you were frustrated and darker than you had been before.

I told you that I was scared of dying. You replied that you weren't. To you, death would be a relief. It meant that the struggle was over. There wasn't a trace of nihilism in your voice. Just wisdom. I admired you for your bravery.

I didn't lie when I told you that you were among the greatest people I ever knew. It still stands true.

We kept in touch, of course. I talked to you on facebook-- moreso when you were between relationships-- but we shared memes and touched base. We flirted, still. It was innocent when you were in a relationship-- just little compliments-- and it was unabashed when you were single. You went through a few boyfriends and I think a cheating fiance in Oklahoma in the time I was in another hemisphere.

In 2012, you wrote:

thank you Morgan for those unforgettable weeks we spent traveling the east coast couchsurfing, reveling in the wonders of the world, and sharing words and the sweet mountain air. You changed my life more than you may know, and that's only because you found me since one of my interests was "dreaming".

By that time, I had stopped using LJ and didn't see it until months later.

The third time I visited you was after I had moved abroad for almost a decade, just before the 2020 pandemic, when I came home from China for Chinese New Year. You were in NC again living in a halfway house after rehab, and as soon as I learned you could have visitors, I drove the 8 hours or so to visit you. You lived with a number of other people in AA or NA. You'd gotten involved with more than just alcohol, and it showed. Your curves your gone. Your face was thinner. You were far more anxious. You'd changed a lot. I still loved you. I still considered you a companion spirit, but it hurt me to see you that way.

Before, we worked each other's bodies on every available surface as soon as we got the chance. When you were living in the halfway house, I treated you softly. We gave each other backrubs and lit candles. My heart had been through the garbage disposal, and you gave me the intimacy I needed.

That was the last time I saw you alive. We chatted more online, but it was the last time I saw you alive.

After covid clipped my wings in 2021, I was driving my grandmother's old beater around. It couldn't reliably leave the county, but in 2022, I bit the bullet and bought a new vehicle. I looked for cars with good gas mileage. My dad had moved to Bath, NC, and when I was getting ready to go on my first trip to his new house, I texted you.

Your facebook account was dead. I couldn't find your insta account. My heart sank and I googled your name, and that's when I found your obituary.

I will never know how you died. Your obituary says you died in a hospital, but I can find no news article. The obituary said there was no service, but that in lieu of flowers, the parents of the deceased had requested donations to "To Write Love on Her Arms."

To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire, and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.

I'm left to assume you died in an overdose, or maybe a suicide. Maybe they made that request that because that struggle with addiction and depression was such a major a part of your life. I hope that's the only reason, but I know in my gut that it wasn't.

Since I found out on Friday morning, I have wept every single day. Yesterday, for literal hours. Today is the first day that I can write this, though I wanted to since I found the news.

I miss you so, so, so much.