An ode to a faithful friend

Perhaps if I had been more careful with our time and treated you more delicately, I could have delayed our separation. Would I had spared you the rigors of travel and summer and being my one and only, you would not lie ragged and worn at my feet.

I loved you too much.

In high and low, in joy and despair, in paths known and ways unfamiliar, I wanted you with me. You came without complaint. You came faithfully. And, oh, the times we shared.

Kayaking the sea in Alaska.

Splashing along the beaches of Indonesia.

Strolling the green hills of England.

Sloshing through muddy streets of poverty in El Salvador.

I defended your worthiness to those in authority over me. (Corporate dress codes exist to be challenged, after all.) I welcomed you in the company of those higher in status than you. (Those dainty ankles in high heels on graduation day were more daring than I.) I spoke your praise to any who would listen. (And to those who wouldn't listen, too!)

You have carried me and comforted me for ten long years, and I am grateful. I will never forget you.

And I will not abandon you. Some day, though I know not when, we shall walk together through green grass again. For, under the elegance of my white dress that shall symbolize a new step in life, I want none other than you with me to take it.

You will be my old.

And you will be my blue.

Until then, my faithful friend, I write this ode and submit it to yonder waves of internet space. The words do not do you justice. But I am a writer, and so I write.

Farewell, dear Tevas.

Fair thee well.