Summer

I dreamt of my friend last night, I will call him Summer, for the rest of this blog, however long it lasts. He was excited, did not wish to speak of death, wanted to look forward. Then he was gone, and in my dream I was crying.

Summer was a violinist, an intellectual, a photographer, a writer, with an uncanny sense of humour. We were alike, Summer and I, introspective, self-aware, depressed, somewhat cynical, extremely loving, very sensitive, easily addicted. Except, I think I had the advantage of being a woman, intuitively and biologically, I feel women are stronger, much better at giving, at loving and getting on with it. As his time was running out we became distant, I found his negativity unbearable, I remember being with him one day, and when he had left, I just sat in a corner, feeling exhausted and terrifyingly sad. He had headaches, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, then why did he keep making these jokes and smiling ironically. I don’t want to talk about him anymore right now. I leave you with a couple of his photographs and captions, I have very few and wish to use them sparingly.

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