Sweet Kellie,

How long has it been? Eight years, if memory serves. Seven years longer than I knew you. Seven years: long enough for some cells to become new. I'm thankful for the steadfastness of my cerebral cortex at this moment. I am grateful for the memories I have with you, however brief.

I've missed you, Kellie.

Did you know that you would become one of the most important and influential people to me in a few short months? Were you aware that you cemented my love for you in a single LSD-laden night? Was it as significant to you as it was to me? Did it assure you, as it did me, that we would be friends for life?

Do you remember dancing in the sand of my campus volleyball courts? Worshipping to Bacchus, singing about the importance of living above the influence?

"I'm so high above it!" You said, turning on your tippy toes and lifting your arms above your head. You looked to the stars as if the heavens had spoken.

There was no retrieving you at that moment. I let you drift and spin, laughing along with your warm giggles.

Did you know that night was nearly the end of your life? That you would die a week later? Of course not; how could you? You may have seemed otherworldly–an oracle from Delphi prophesying atop Mount Parnassus–but you were Kellie from Troy, Michigan, studying creative writing at the local university. You were human, and you couldn't have known.

How I've missed what could have been.

I got married a few weeks ago, Kellie. Our love, Alex, officiated. Given all we have been through together, it seemed fitting.

I know how you felt about marriage, but I don't know how you felt about weddings. Did you ever get to go to one? Twenty years isn't exactly the age where one attends four weddings in a single summer. You probably went to one as a baby, but did you ever experience the joy of attending as a young and reckless adult?

It might have changed your views on marriage a little bit if you had been able to. You might have gone from seeing it as an institution of patriarchal ownership to something more nuanced, something that, when queered, aligned with the true values of love and acceptance. The shining and performative displays of opulence and commitment would not have blinded you. You would bemoan attending such a spectacle.

I think you would have loved our ceremony, though. We invited eight people and put everyone to work. Four family members held the poles, stretching the chuppah over our heads. As I said, Alex officiated. Her partner held the rings. Our sisters held our two dogs. We said our vows and broke our glass on the sands of Lake Huron.

Oh yeah, Alex is getting married, too. Next year. I will officiate. She and Camille have been together a little longer than my partner Natalie and I. You would love Camille. The relationship she and Alex have built is one to admire; you would be so proud of their life together.

I remember you cared deeply about intentionality, deliberateness, and earnestness. Well, I can assure you that your friends have adopted your values and live them truly every day.

Your commitment and drive to serve your community taught me the importance of love in everything I do. You taught me to think critically and give unconditionally. Without you, I might not have seen the Work of Love as a study or a practice, something to improve upon. Had we not sat over your lilies and discussed the nature of intimacy and the significance of vulnerability in community building, I might not have started my journey away from individualism.

I might have thought we could or were supposed to do this alone.

We held a wake for five days in your home after you were killed. I saw your values in action that week. Your friends showed me how to practice what you had preached because you had shown them.

Sometimes, this world seems impossible to navigate, and worst of all–

I didn't know we were supposed to navigate it without you.

But, then again, you ensured we are never without you.

Thank you, my sweet friend.

Forever yours,

kp