On the way back from Walmart, a bird named Henrietta had to crap, and naturally had to do so on my head. And I was pissed.
So he offered to interrupt his day and take me home, and I said I'd only be ten minutes, but I took thirty.
Which definitely set the precedent of overtime. Our friendship's lasted longer than he originally wanted it to, and longer than I had expected.
He has the best taste in music. I could listen to his playlists non-stop, and as much as I hate shuffling through albums ((They really ought to be played in order)) I've never had a problem with how random he is.
And that was our primary connection--we listened. To each other, to rants, to music. I couldn't stop whining, and he has a hard time being heard.
One of my greatest regrets from this year is just that. I interrupt him all the time. I never mean to. But it's even how we met; a series of interruptions.
I'm sorry that I always interrupt you.
But I'm very glad we interrupted each other's lives.
I always admired the way you got really interested in things, and the way you stuck with them. I've always wanted you to teach me how to do things because you just get stuff.
And when things got dramatic ((All the time)) you were still swimming, just on the surface where you always made peace between the water and the air.
You stopped me from drowning in the want.
You stopped me from drowning in the loneliness.
And now I've got you back, so please don't let my soul drown in luxury