I’m still your biggest fan. I know you’re mine. You’re no longer here, but I can still hear your footsteps approaching, the sound of your voice as you play with words, the laughter that would never die.
I remember the way you used to make sure questions were in the right context, and you’d ask me to explain again. By the time I would explain, we had moved on to other news, other worldly issues, and I would fall in love with your ideas all over again.
And now I think about coincidences, fate, destiny. I told you fate plays a role but it always negotiates. We chose separate paths and yet I wonder is there a bridge between us that can’t be severed? Can I visit you? Is it a betrayal to my present and future if I remain stuck where you are? Here, while you’re just over there?
You were the vision I manifested and that vision took both of our breaths away. There’s no heartbeat where you used to be and I leaf through words, all I have left, finding you between every syllable (and syllabus).
We start the semester and I wish you were part of this chapter. To witness a journey is to make it real. I don’t want to believe in ghosts but I see your raised eyebrow in my critical theory books, hear your long pauses (are you still there?) as we break it all down. I envy my past self for being where you are (were). Are, were, here, there – time and geography.
Your presence (absence) exceeds all. 
