My favorite image of you is sitting under a tent on Labor Day at Harriet Island. I love Minnesota’s political legacy, in no small part, because of you.

I rocked you to sleep singing Polyester Bride. You were the sweetest, fattest baby and sent me to the emergency room with a pulled muscle in my back.

We laid side by side and talked into the small hours of the morning. It was oddly intimate and clarifying and, when I woke up, you were gone.

I was in over my head. You kept me breathing. I didn’t realize how much you meant to me until you took my hand and didn’t let go.

You pissed me off, hardcore, and then I had to turn around and make enormous, painful sacrifices for you. It’s good, because you made me like me more.

You brought light, wisdom and joy to everyone in your life. I’m truly honored to have been your friend. Sometimes I still miss you so much it hurts.

We fled from the scary, scary American together and stayed up whispering until 3am about how Vienna is such an effortlessly classy city. I love hostels. And Vienna.

I made it to level three out of four in your German test. Not bad, considering it had been ages. You were fun – wish we’d kept in touch.

An opportunist who once had principles, you’re proof that power doesn’t have to be absolute to corrupt. Friendly enough in person, you’re still obnoxious. And just plain wrong.