It is within these ungodly hours that I find myself missing you, quite terribly. I miss having the distinct privilege of being able to call you at such times and know that you're most likely sitting on your bed wide awake as I am.
I miss our conversations. We used to talk about nothing and everything, for hours on end. You were the only one that ever put up with my ramblings. You sifted through my moaning and groaning of everyday routine and found meaning in them. You listened to me as I painted you pictures of my vivid dreams. And from your own words, I drew comfort.
I was fascinated by so many things, and you willingly reveled with me as I ecstatically explained them to you. You talked with me on history, mythology, architecture, philosophy, cartoons, culture, and everything within the spectrum of imagination.
I felt alive, and with you I bred a friendship that filled my entire life with happiness.
Dear, dear friend, I regret losing you. Sometimes I spend hours like now, missing you.
I wish and pray you're happy. I can ask nothing more.
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