I was watching this film by Mike Mills, and suddenly there it was, pictures of New York, and I felt back precisely where we were. You and me, walking across the Williamsburg bridge, you in your Birkenstocks, your weird glass frame, casual, funny, meaningful. I wanna go back to sipping coffee in your bed, and tell you that nobody is replaceable. That we are told that if we break a glass we can just buy a new one, that if we lose our keys we can just make copies, that if we lose friends we can just befriend others. But it’s not true. There is no one else like you. There really-really isn’t. There’s only you. It took me a long time to learn this. I miss all that is you. There’s gonna be nobody “like you” ever again. We are not supposed to say this, because it’s insanity, to make loss so significant, and impossible to repair. But insanity it all is, this life.