Dear Joe,
It’s been a long time since I last saw you, but I’ve never forgotten the lessons you taught me that day in Hobo Alley. The number eight is significant to me, and whenever I think of it, I think of you. It’s a reminder of how connections can stretch beyond time and place, how they can be lasting even when we least expect it. And I guess, in a way, that’s how I feel about our time together.
It was the last Sunday of December 2014 when I last saw you, and I was walking down that street the locals liked to call “Hobo Alley.” People often warned me about the dangers there, about what I might encounter, but I wasn’t afraid. Maybe it was my blissful ignorance or maybe it was the secret I never told anyone, that I had friends there, like you.
I remember that Sunday clearly. You arrived late, sipping your 8th cup of coffee from Circle K, and when you sat down, I could sense something had changed. I’ll never forget what you said to me that day. Your voice was rough yet sincere. You told me to value the connections I had, that you regretted not doing so in your own life. You said, “Kid, I love you. I hope you know I’m being real with you.” You told me to hold onto the relationships that mattered. There was a depth to your words that stayed with me. I remember how you finished your cup of coffee slowly, the steam rising from the cup as we sat in silence.
I didn’t understand it fully at the time, but I listened. I held onto your words. And now, years later, I realize just how important they were. You taught me not just to value relationships, but to cherish them, to never take them for granted. You helped me understand that life is fragile, and that the people we care about can shape our path in ways we can’t always see coming.
You also taught me something else I didn’t know I needed to hear, that sometimes, it’s not about the words we say, but the quiet, unspoken understanding we share. When you told me you loved me, I didn’t say it back. I didn’t know how to at the time, but I think you knew. I think you knew we didn’t need words to express what mattered. Still, I wish I’d told you.
After that day, you didn’t return. I waited for you, hoping to see you again, but you were gone. I don’t know what happened to you, whether you found a way out or something worse happened. But I think about you often, Joe, and I carry your wisdom with me every day.
Now, whenever I drink a cup of coffee, my “cup of joe,” it’s a reminder of the time we shared and the lessons you gave me. I’ve tried to live by those lessons. Maybe that’s why, unlike you, I never went down the same path. I’ve tried to approach every relationship with intention and appreciation, and to understand the preciousness of time and the people in my life.
So my dear Joe, wherever you are, I hope you know that I still think of you and that I value the connection we had and I still carry those words you shared with me and the love you showed me. You were real with me, and for that, I’ll always be grateful. I love you.