I hadn’t seen him in ten years when I got the letter telling me he was dead. Ten long years he’d been removed from my life, and yet, it felt like just yesterday when we were coasting the backroads of New England on cruise control, music playing a little too loud, voiced singing in unison, but more than off key.

It seemed like just yesterday when we were all packed into the crowded, hot auditorium because it was raining on graduation day. Just yesterday, when you gave your commencement speech and moved most of us to tears.

Moments ago, it seems to me now, you were running your fingers through my hair. We were sitting on the breakwall as the tides came it, staring off into the horizon as the sun went down.

It seemes like yesterday; you were leaving, telling me you’d write, call me every day.

Of course, you didn’t.

I find myself crying as I read the letter over again. Because, even though I haven’t seen you in ten years, it seems unreal that you could be permanantly gone.