Mourning Morquendi

Damnit,S.

I miss you more than I need to. I would have gone on with my life treating you the way I have these last 7 years, thinking of you as the friend I’ll get back in touch with years later and then just hangout without any strings attached. But, no. You had to ruin that for me by leaving the news of your death as your last FB status message. I now read your old emails almost everyday and miss you terribly. Not in a romantic way, no. But in the way I used to miss you when I was in Bombay, about a year before we started dating. That year, you were the perfect friend. You were funny and your charming best and just the right amount of protective. I learned to be my own person that year, thanks only to you. I miss you in the way one misses their old best friends. Because that’s really what you were for a long while. My best friend.

I strongly suspect you’re now a tabby cat, perched on top of a cinnamon tree, being all Cheshire as you read this. You’re probably reading every post, every tweet and text left by everyone praising and missing you. You’re the quintessential drama queen. You’re too alive a spirit to be really dead but still want to pretend to be so, just for the attention. But if there’s the slightest chance that I’m right and you are reading this, then I’ll gladly write everyday, my dear dead friend.

Yours elvishly,
P.