the quarter life affair

We weren't friends, not by the real definition of the word. We'd only met on a few occasions, and had one real conversation, at this little coffee shop by Logan Circle. It was windy and sunny that day. You talked a lot, you told me a lot, and you were so excited about... everything. The latest project you were working on, ideas you had, a food truck with your brother, visiting your girlfriend in Italy. You wanted to talk about everything. You weren't the most articulate, but you had passion.

When he told me, he was still in shock. I started to cry. But he said, if he wasn't crying, then I couldn't.

I don't know what happened. Most of us don't. But at the very least, we can say this, you lived. More than most people do in an entire life time. And you were loved and talked about. I heard more about you from your friends prior to meeting you than I've ever heard of anyone else. They called you Du Ma, for reasons that've slipped my mind. When we met, I had to ask you again, what your real name was. They said you were this great chef. That during a period of unemployment, you spent a month drinking with another friend who was unemployed. That your drink of choice was Jameson, but you guys had to switch to Wild Turkey because you both were too broke. That you'd managed to move to Singapore to cook. That you always managed to make the things you wanted, happen.

Rest in peace.