One of my most valued possessions is a single piece of paper.
The valuable part, of course, is what's printed on it. It's not a deed, contract, license or any other legal document though. It's a print-out of a short piece of prose posted to a BBS long ago. Too long and formless to be poetry and too short and plotless to be a story, it's just some text that a friend once wrote about some of his friends. It placed each of our circle along with some of it's fringe (not by name, but by description) in a fantasy world, going about our daily business. It was an elegeant and warm sentiment, if not exactly a statement.
This friend of mine was a dreamer. A beautiful fucking human being who left this world way too early. Too early for him and way too fucking early for the world. It's a darker place without his dumb blonde ass.
I came across this paper again when I started to go through my things in preperation for moving. I read it over and over. It got me thinking about those days, and those friends I never see anymore. I miss them.
And I miss you especially, Randy.