Oh, Hank! The rumors are true! I now take my leave for San Francisco, but I see you’ve understood this was coming for a while now. We had a good run, though, didn’t we? I remember when we first met. So much has happened since then and I, no longer the fair and blushing youth, and you, no longer the fresh and reckless young vagabond you were but a year ago, are but two souls drifting apart, a corgi pushed and slid between two situations we can’t control, mere specks in a sea of regret and love for each other that makes that regret all the more painful, but beautiful, too. Sort of like this memorable scene from that movie we watched together for the bajillionth time, (you were wearing that shirt I liked, I was wearing my hair up, remember?):
But don’t cry, Hank. Be strong. Take a look at this corgi poster, the last poster I’ll make for you, at least in the foreseeable future (and the future I foresee has a ceiling of three months). I hope you like it. I was thinking of us when I made it.
I guess what I mean to say to you is, follow your dreams. Read this poem by Joshua Beckman, a poet I am a fan of, and a poet you should see this Sunday when he comes to the Henry to teach us neat things:
Don’t be mad,
I’m in bed thinking
of you at work.
I love that when I think of you, Hank, you are my work. You were my work. If I had any advice to you, dance a lot. Dance like this:
Now get out there and have some fun. We’re still young, aren’t we? Only now I prefer Ube ice cream.