#80 - A.B.

I met you in a hotel, beneath ground. We shared hysterical, inane laughter, and later concerts and an apartment. I hear stories of your new life in Texas, and I'm delighted that you're happy. Do you think you'll figure out who you really are?

#79 - A.P.

You radiate this positive, I-need-everyone-to-like-me vibe that reminds me of myself. There's a sweetness, an innocence about you, though, that I don't remember ever having. "Conscience cannot stand much violence", but apparently your demeanor somehow withstands that angry house. Please don't ever be like them.

#78 - L.P.

At the wedding this summer, we danced feverishly on the dance floor and made fun of the distant relatives in hushed, giggling tones. At Put-in-Bay, we raced around in golf carts and laughed hysterically. It's likely that, mentally, I am 17, too.

#77 - D.F.

Sitting on the brick walkway that overlooked the ocean near Myrtle Beach, we talked. The smell of beer wafted through the air, and tiny lizards ran around us. You disseminated your adoration of Springsteen, I dispersed facts about Amos, and a mutual respect grew.

#76 - A.W.

You're different now - mean, concerned only with sex and booze. I remember how beautiful you were - deep laugh, chocolate skin, confident stance - and I yearn to bring back my friend. I don't know how much of you is left inside.

#75 - M. K.

In kindergarten, you convinced me to cut my long, pretty hair with a pair of kids' scissors. In 8th grade, you had pool parties all summer and we laughed until it hurt. Always the bad kid, but really, always good.

#74 - E.H.

An intelligent, environmentally-conscious academic, we traded opinions for weeks. I always seemed to be a little less than you - I wouldn't compost, I didn't know the right music, my farmer's market was substandard. At least now, when you're all alone, you're with someone perfect.