My darling Bennett,
Today was your chapel. You spoke so truthfully, so honest and open and raw, so brave that more than once I twisted my hands together, willing myself not to cry.
You are incredible. You stood at the podium, looking at four hundred people. I know that you don't like all of them, but you found it within yourself to let them all in. You found it within yourself to tell the truth that is visceral and aching to all of us sitting there, listening to you. You stood up there, facing the bleary-eyed people in the bright morning, and you told us who you are.
Yesterday my mother and I were talking about what writing should be, and we decided that the purpose was to shine a light on a cross-section of the human condition. I sat behind you on the bench, looking at your back, where your ponytail doesn't quite brush your shoulder blades. You showed us a cross-section of the human condition. You gave us your realized world, and you left all of us with more understanding of what life is.
I have long regretted not writing you a thank-you in my own chapel, because I realised quite quickly that you are one of the best friends I have. Hopefully this letter partially makes up for that.
You are brave and brilliant - so brave, and so, so brilliant. You are the most truthful person I know, the most tolerant, the bravest. You are the one that I call when I am cold or angry or unstrung. You are the one that I can always talk to about anything because even when we argue we come out alright. I don't see enough of you anymore, and I miss you. Stay brave and brilliant and I will remember the night when my tears seeped onto your shoulder and you didn't push me away.