lunacracy

I saw your picture from the trials the other day. It was on FARS news. Someone, one of the many friends you made while you were here, sent it to a group of us. We have an email group that simply mulls over what we should do. We use logic, trying to think about what the government would do if we went public or if we didn’t, trying to presume behavior that frankly is a funny presumption. We have no idea what to do, that’s the brilliance of lunatic leadership, they always leave everyone impotent in their ability to make decisions because there is no logic, no history, no information upon which to make decisions. All everyone does is playing a guessing game, and those that have been inside the belly of its lunacy have some better brilliance at this guessing game, but ultimately, we never know what to do, so we do nothing. I have your picture on my desk, I don’t know why. I don’t want to forget you. Where you are. I don’t think you should be alone right now.
I looked at the picture and I was surprised. To be honest, you aren’t the same guy as three years ago. You look old, angry, and obstinate. But to me, and these are all just assumptions, you look hurt. All I want, selfishly, is to have an hour with you so I can make you laugh again, in that stupid way that I would, so I could see that you are still inside there.
I always think back to our nights walking the upper west side near school. The night we were in the diner and you had your note cards out, the things you had learned in class that you were so focused on.
I remember the last lunch we had at the World Bank. You were serious as usual but curious and still pressing about the perfect match we would make if I would only give in. We laughed. I wanted you to go back with your dreams, I believed in them too. We knew we were foolish. Only they could show us how much.