Dedicated to the sick f*cks who stand by your side, by all means necessary.

The story of our bond is strange, ‘cause it dates back before the internet age. Just keep on reading, I will explain. Initiated by previous generations before we was even an idea. Your pops Martin and my ma’ Irma, two platonically loving individuals, inseparable and always keeping it Philia. Stories passed and shared about this true friendship that can not be compared. Time, tragedy and trauma left them separated, but bond never broken. The years passed and something woken. A phone call, left my moms shookt and scared. “It’s him,” she blares. Hangs up the phone, and stares. Confused and wielding a piercing gaze, my mother pulls on her hair. Fazed. Begging her to explain what floods her brain. She exclaims about her conversation with a man beyond the grave. “His voice is exactly the same, even the way he clears his throat… I’m going, insane…” I sit and listen as she starts spitting these fables, about her dear comrade she be missing. All over the table, she breaks down every tale. Sitting n obsoarbin’, feeling like I’ve already met this hombre.

[weeks pass]

Bearing your fathers name, and though I’ve never met him, you even look the same. We were about 15 when I introduced myself to you, with a handshake and fist bump that led to a few brews between us two. Our first encounter was casual, genuine. Having pozole for breakfast at nana’s became our usual fixin’. From back yard parties, to going into our twenties, university and adulting. You cry, I laugh, we wail. Feels weird that we’ve known each other only so many years. Your aura is f*cking severe. Organically bound similar to our parents, as if it were lost and found. Never once was it in jeopardy. Still holding strong. Possessing similar habits since we’ve been small. Still sleeping over at each other’s cribs. Where nights of drinking, turn into music trivia and track skipping. I’m always able to vent to you without any judgement. An arrangement non-verbally contracted that’s very much appreciated and never taken for granted. The kilometers that separated us for a while couldn’t break our bond, ’cause regularly we cracked brews via FaceTime.

Thank you for being you and always staying true. I hope you enjoyed this is a romantic {but non-homosexually-driven} write-up of us two f*ck-ups. Who share a need to know whats-what and who’s got the moolah. So, don’t forget to check your cheddar for mice, looking to swoop up your vice at a roll of a dice.

Love you, fucking virgin