The Banzai Chronicles

Outside watching the moonrise over Lake Union from my courtyard, of which I avail myself far too little. Though the view is obstructed, it's beautiful nonetheless. Sitting here in the dark with a cup of tea should be a ritual, or at least a more regular observance. It's so easy for me to tilt off my axis, to lose a proper sense of rhythm and perspective—while there's much that bears discipline and change, sometimes the simplest step is that cup of tea and a smattering of stars.

Though my own life is so very good and rich and sweet, there are realities elsewhere I'd undo if given the chance, places where I'd press the reset button if I thought it would change a thing. Truth is, it wouldn't, but there are things I miss, people I miss. Christopher is one of those losses. What happened to my friend? What swallowed him up? Is it waiting for me, something that can twist a man up inside so much that he becomes unrecognizable even to those closest to him?

The fear, however, isn't the hardest part—the absence is. While an explanation I could understand might bring some measure of resolution, I just miss my friend. Sometimes things are that simple.