Every time I make risotto I think of you. I don’t know when I became persona non grata, was it the last time we spoke? when you told me you wanted to come to my hometown with me? was it drug abuse or simply isolation? 

I remember the time we took acid in Antwerp, and the time we went to the coast and were tripping in the dunes while trying to capture birds with our cameras. I remember your first exhibition, and that time there was a mouse in your dinner party. I remember the time I invited you for dinner and you and your boyfriend came without knowing we will become close and then strangers again. I know you think of me because you block me, I know you speak about me because our friends in common tell me so. Why being a stranger? Is it better that way? Friends forever when high, passers-by in life when not.