Ambie

It's odd. A sort of on-and-off friendship we've shared over the past 10 years. I've known you for a long time, can't remember the first time I met you, regret the last time I saw you, and will most likely die looking forward to the next time I see you.
I know you'd cringe if I wrote something super poetic, so I won't. I wouldn't be able to. You deserve the sort of poetry that I can't write. You know, the good stuff.
I guess now I'll just miss you like I always do, except a trillion miles further.
Thanks for always treating me like something special, even though I had nothing in particular to offer you. Everyone always was around more, or worth being around more. I was the one who wanted to hug you but never got up the courage; who wanted to encourage you but was never close enough; who wanted to help you but never knew how. You humbled me, in that I took without having anything to give. Kind of like a little bit of Jesus in my life.
Never had anything smart to tell you, no words of wonder or advise to help you hang on, but I want to impart all that I have, and that is:
I'll always be praying for you, really hard and really long, like I always have. I'll always forget your mistakes, cause they were too few to merit space in my brain. I'll always hope that you keep on going, keep on making it, because I like to please my brain with realistic hopes. I'll always rejoice at seeing you progress and grow, because you always are.

Have fun in the sun, and enjoy the likeness I drew of you. (I tried to scratch out the parts you wouldn't like.) The hand is chubby and strange, like mine.