I remember a man who listened to his intuition and logged back in during the wee hours of a November morning, right when I badly needed a friend. And he stayed up with me sitting by his fire on the roof of his house until sunrise, listening to me and keeping me company as I sorted out my feelings.
He was the same friend who introduced me to the Blue Note, who noticed every detail about my gowns, who lifted me up effortlessly in a ballroom dance, and who sang along with the songs with me. A sweet man, a wonderful friend.
I missed him today.
So I go in-world in the wee hours of the morning and sit by his fire on the roof of his house. He has seats now so I don't have to sit in the fire. The Christmas tree and the poinsettia plant are gone. And the Christmas music isn't streaming in anymore. It has been too long since I last saw him, and this house is all that remains of him in-world.
Today, I become acutely aware how fragile everything is in SL. People come into our Second Life, touch our souls, and then be lost to real life. Eventually, even this structure that he built would be gone too, with nary a pixel left to indicate that it was ever here.
Sometimes we don't realize how we affect people's lives and how they affect ours. It's only when we see it happening again that we are reminded of the past. In this case, the sentimentality is triggered by a sinking feeling yesterday morning that I'm about to lose another friend to real life.
Yes, I am deeply grateful for the time I had with all those wonderful people and for the time I continue to have with other wonderful people. But I do miss the ones who are gone.
As Headman himself once said, "I think we miss the connection we feel with someone."
Every time we say goodbye, I die a little.
Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little.
Why the gods above me, who must be in the know,
Think so little of me. They allow you to go.*
* Written by Cole Porter