Leo's Goodbye

I strongly urge you to read this post before you continue. This will make more sense to those of you who have been reading since the beginning. But for those of you who just climbed aboard this wacky train, all you need is to backtrack a few and you should get the idea.

The following is my (old) roommate Leo's farewell post.

* * *

In about an hour, I am leaving LA. It's an odd thought; I've been here for four years in college and as long out, but I'm looking forward to what new things lie ahead in lands distant.

However.

In about an hour, I will be leaving So's side. The band is breaking up. And that is going to be rough.

Humans naturally seek out their own kind—they attract those with shared traits and bond with those who possess a similar character. This mutuality serves as the foundation of interpersonal relationships—friends, partners, and of course, mates. Life, amongst other things, is the search for our better half, our significant other, out match. It's what brings you all here, it's something all of you know, or at one point have known.

Inevitably, humans find their match (or they think they do), and they pair off. Visits between pals become more infrequent. People fall out of touch. Friendships rust, get squeaky from disuse, and in many cases, decay into dust. I think this is tragic. For me, friends are my significant others. They are those in whom I see myself. They are my better halves.

And, for the last several years, So and I have been, well, to use the British definition to avoid sounding gay, each other's mate. We have been each other's crutch, confidant, and coach. The R2 to the other's C3-PO. We've fought the good fight together; each watching the other's back, yelling "duck!" a moment before disaster. To put this experience into words is impossible—there's just too much.

This is where I stop talking to all the readers, and address just one of you.

Dude. Bro.

We've been hacking our way through the proverbial jungle of this world together – throwing a stick out when one of us stumbles into quicksand, offering a hand to each other as we scramble up peaks, and generally picking the tarantulas off each other's back.

We've blazed our own path through this sweltering continent they often call Life, and looking back, we see how far we've come.

And now the path ahead diverges. You look down one, I the other. Somewhere many miles and moons ahead, those paths will merge again, but for now, I'm afraid this is it. I'll give you an awkward bro-hug, something that will be terribly inadequate in expressing how I feel, shrug on my rucksack, make some snarky little comment about the heat to break the tension, then head out. And right before I disappear over the ridge, I'll cast one last look over my shoulder, smile, flip you off, and be gone.

So. Fight the good fight, and know that somewhere out there, I will be too.

And remember… I'll be back.