Today I lost one of my best friends. Bono and I met when I was seventeen and he was five. With more wisdom than anyone his age or species, Bono first played hard to get. My extreme emotional and irrational approach wasn't suited to beings like him. Bono was cryptic, yet transparent. He was stern and loving at the same time. I spent a good deal of my time in his house heartbroken and often inebriated, of which Bono was accepting but not welcoming. As I grew up around Bono, I got signs of approval, enacted by letting me pick him up or take him for a walk. I felt like I had made headway in Bono's school of Zen. He was my Mr Miyagi, my Master Schifu. Nish fish, Bono's one and only love and co-resident, tells me that you carry people you have loved with you everywhere you go. Today when I sat around Bono's room I felt him settle into the world. He wasn't an absence, but a strong presence. Even when he was sick and dying, Bones managed to look nonchalant and solemn about the entire thing. After burying him, I felt lucid grief, but not severe helplessness. Bones taught me more than anyone on two legs and with the power of speech ever could. In silence he taught me to grow up and recognize myself as the only person I could ever be.


I love you forever Bones. you were my Confucius. And the coolest friend I ever had.

(on a different note)
Facebook kills chances of any real connection, but also any chances itself. I do wish I lived in a previous age. One in which sincerity wasn't dead.