Dear Houghton Friends

I have tried to find you all and wish you well.  If I did not find you, I am sorry.  It's not for lack of trying.

Last night after Senior SPOT I wandered across campus, looking for any of you.  I discovered a quiet desolation.

It may seem strange for this quiet, surly kid you've known for four years to say he's broken up about the end of the age, but I am.

I am an introvert.  When I first meet someone I am loathe to speak, and slow to be friendly.  But as time goes by and I become familiar with people, I come to the point where I will fight for them with tooth and nail.  What I mean to say is that friendship for me runs deep.

What surprised me last night, as I wandered around the quad, was how widely it runs.  I realized that I love you all.  For all my scoffing eyebrows and grimaces of distaste, you are all dearer to me than I can say to your faces.  I am—after all and as I said before—an introvert.

As I climbed the hill back to my apartment, I found myself wishing I could give you each something to commemorate this bond I feel to you.  A piece of my soul as a brand of light, or something similarly Romantic and abstract.

I don't have a physical representation to present to you, except perhaps the pixels on the screen you're using to read this.  All I have, I suppose, is my word.

So here it is:

God bless you, dear friends.  You have meant more to me than I know or could turn in a phrase. I look forward to our next meeting, and pray it is sooner than I fear.  You have become brothers and sisters to me, and I would not have traded the last four years for all the riches or glory or any other joy life has to offer.  You have been God's light on my path as well as my traveling companions.  I know that as you go on you will light the paths of others, and make new dear friends to travel with.  I will not forget you.  I ask you to share my diligence.

Go on and stand tall, knowing I have your back, even if we are a world away.