Ode to a friend

I remember when we would listen to Aretha Franklin's 'Soul of 69' on LP, all scratchy and old, but never sounding better. In our 3rd floor walk-up, you're sitting on that old, ugly couch of ours and me, on the brown chair salvaged from my dad's office. The glow of that god-awful orange lamp in the background, candles lighting the living room table. A few bottles of wine and perhaps a joint later (this was Montreal, after all), souls barred, consciences emptied, I'd giggle & laugh, never fully realizing how much I'd miss these moments, years later. I'd never met anyone like you, with whom I clicked so well from the very beginning - that very first sentence exchanged "you like the Hip?" (Oh, how very small-town Ontario of us). Through boys, broken hearts and broken families, moves cross-country and later, across the ocean, we've shared everything and nothing, leaving things unsaid, no need to state the obvious:

"Here's to the losers,
the substance abusers.
To the rejects
and all the imperfects.
To the retarded
and the broken-hearted.
To the storming masses,
and the lower classes.
'cause I think we're beautiful,
no matter what anyone says.

I think we're beautiful."