Old Buddy

I had a friend once, his name was Etienne. One night as he lay in his bed reading, I suppose he felt inspired. He wrote on his arm in pen, " Remind her how much you love her." He was dating a woman named Vera, she was breathtaking, and they were happy.

He wrote an entry in his journal, right before it happened. That night my friend Etienne was murdered by a man he had truly never met. He crept into the house before Etienne had gotten home. I imagine him waiting in the shadows so ready, yet so afraid, to do what he knew he must do. Shivering in the quiet, I only wonder what his thoughts were. How he could have been so meek, yet so strong.

Three stab wounds and a hasty exit. I think about him often, my friend Etienne.
His last journal entry read:

It is an odd thing, to be truly in love. You go through such bouts of forgetfulness- such blundering disbelief. Phases of floating. Life becomes a twilight wandering to make yourself remember that you have found what you were searching for. You cannot at all times be aware of something so powerful, so beautiful, and so certain, I think. You'd lie around on persian pillows, glassy-eyed and sighing for all eternity... Though, I must say, it is heaven to remember.

Passionate, powerful, I agree. He died in heaven though, at least. He said it. But, in the end, I think he brought it on himself. Etienne was happy, very happy. People like that can't live too long.

I think.

Its not really fair for everyone else is it? I think maybe now at least, he's with his own kind, my old buddy Etienne. Yeah, I think thats what he'd have wanted...

Its the right thing, don't you think?