I had lunch with a friend yesterday who knew Ian too. After we finished catching up on each others’ lives, conversation turned to Ian. It was really good to talk about him. To remember bits of him and his personality that I hold in my heart, but don’t get out and look at much anymore.
It was nice to speak with her of the ways in which he was unusual. About the fact that for no discernible reason, he was one of the most enticing and attractive men I’ve ever met. Not only that but he was so kind, so non-judgmental that you were completely comfortable making a fool of yourself around him. He didn’t care. He joined in.
If it weren’t for him, for his joy in doing things he knew he was terrible at (singing), and his love of other people doing them as well, I wouldn’t have started singing again. And if I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be pursuing a dream. A course of action that right now, has me more excited for life than I have been for as long as I remember.
If it weren’t for Ian, I would still be stuck on survive. I just wish he was here to share my hope and excitement. I wish he was here to cheer me on. To talk me down when I get scared. To roll his eyes and tell me to stop being a baloney when I go off on tangents.
I haven’t once stopped missing him. Maybe I never will.
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