You were never good at music theory, but I loved hearing you sing.

You were filled with useless trivia knowledge. You watched Jeopardy every day at 4 p.m.

You always corrected my poor grammar. You taught me how to use adverbs.

You lit up a room when you entered.

You taught me how to fold fitted sheets.

You helped with my camera collection. You were my sidekick all throughout undergrad.

You're still the emergency contact for my cat. You bought her bright orange collar that she still wears.

You taught me how to love unconditionally. You made me who I am.

You will never be gone. You shine through the photos, the letters you wrote, our matching tattoos, the gifts you gave, the things I wouldn't have without you, and every memory we created together. The Big Tree will always be our spot. You will always be an inspiration. No one will ever understand why threatening to push each other into traffic was so hilarious. Parallel fifths were our nemeses. We were Amy and Rory. You are my light and my best friend.

Thank God for Music Theory.

Thank God for Schurz Hall.

Thank God for memories, for laughs, for the 4th of July spent out in the hills, for the little looks you always gave, for shared music, for inside jokes, for late nights and early mornings, for Africa on Snappers TouchTunes, for Hawaiian shirts, for midnight premiers of Star Wars movies, for our mutual hatred of cargo shorts, for vacations together, for all the times I needed a lighting model, for all the times you came through for me.

Thank God for you.

Rest easy, punk.