You held on when I insisted on disappearing. Your friendship came out of nowhere, most unexpectedly. You held my hand via emails and texts and became my secret keeper. Your eyes saw the first draft of everything. Remember how you used to worry when I am gone too long? You would chase me through the internet and demand to know if I am okay. I can still hear that tone in your voice, “Where are you? Tell me you are okay. I worry.”

You confess your secrets and your transgressions. I lock them deep —- even if you didn’t keep mine, I would still keep yours. You used to call and tell me about your latest obsession, the muse who is inspiring the work.

I believed in your art when those who should, didn’t. I’ve always been proud of you, as a man and as an artist.

But we are no longer what we were. Your replies used to be instantaneous, now, your name rarely shows up in the inbox. I no longer ask you to keep my secrets because there is no need for secrets now…but it doesn’t mean I love you any less. Change. The constance and ever presence of the Himalayas is impossible but I worry about the shifting nebulous that is our unconventional love. Will you disappear just as miraculously as you appeared?

You are on the verge of greatness. I can see it. I hope in someways, I contributed.

Then. It was effortless for us to hold on. Now. It takes a minute, a concrete thought to extend my hand and find yours across the continent in the dark and vice versa. It happens.

I don’t fear change but I would be awfully sad if we end up as strangers.