I miss our mornings together, even if they were unproductive. I would sneak away and you would always be there… somewhere. Sometimes I would forget where you were. Was it the sock drawer, behind the soup cans, under the sink perhaps? And like an Easter egg hunt I would find you. You have never seen determination like a person needing their first taste. It is like life, perhaps a façade or a lie, that is not the point. We know the black, here is the gray. We sometimes find happiness in the wrong things we do habitually. You were always there and understood me regardless of your name. You never talked back, never complained about regurgitation… you were the perfect friend.