I am drunk as I write. Drunk in spirit, in a wonderland of my own creation fueled by his personality, his wit, his humor, his attention, his love. Yes, it is love. Perhaps not traditional, romantic love, but love nonetheless. We talked the night away, drank like teenagers, laughed with an innocence bore out of years of a friendship that began quietly and without warning, growing roots so deep in my being that I feel them with every shift of my body, every blink of my eyes. It is a state one can't quite define but one that I return to again and again each time we meet, regardless of the activity, or the plan, there is an understanding that play will ensue, that the day will be short in hours leaving me wondering and wanting more, filling me to the brim with an elated sense of being. Why is life worth living? For moments such as these, moments where life, in its mundane madness, is temporarily suspended and where I am transported into the mind and the comfort of a psyche and a soul that I've grown accustomed to over the years and whose presence I will always treasure.