Joaquin

I visited an old friend today thinking about life and where he lay. My friend was a giant man, too big for a poem, too humble for an essay, and too real for a bi line. My friend was real and alive within my memories.

I wasn’t as good a friend as he. It came to him naturally. He called me to check in, I called him for advice. He invited me into his family, I visited with him when I could. He genuinely cared for me while I appreciated all his advice. He saved part of me and I admired all of him.

I miss him now instead of then
Now all I have is remember when. From explaining the construction application of the formula for a square to how to deal with displaced children; he always had a sound answer. Now the echoes of his sentiment reverberate through my life.

A friend is someone you don’t see for a while, then hear their voice and suddenly smile. I pass his resting place everyday and know that he has found his way. I’m a better man for knowing my friend and now I have a hand to lend.

He wasn’t a poem, an essay or bi line; he was something bigger, a friend of mine!

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