dobry den

i miss my friend.
he used to sit in the library and talk about books with me. i was reading ayn rand. it, like so much of my life in prague, blew my mind, and he let me talk about it. asked questions, was interested, helped me throw ideas around. he loved Fight Club, tried to convince me to read it, recommended other books. he gave me one he liked as i left, On Beauty, it was interesting and provocative and a lovely gift. he thinks i overuse the word 'lovely'.
i would meet him, needing to talk. i was trying to figure out my course of study, looking for what i wanted to do, trying to define what holds my interest, learning who i was. he listened. he asked questions, he let me work through my ideas, he helped me.
we knew next to nothing about each others' lives. we talked politics, literature, art, music, intelligence, but nothing personal. it was nice not to talk about my emotions or my problems, just things of interest and beauty.
we went to his family's village with matt and tom. we hiked to the top of a mountain and missed the top, and hiked down in the dark. we had to use our cell phones and our senses to find our way down. he was worried, didn't want us to hurt ourselves. i loved his dog. his mother and family were wonderful. they were sweet and generous. mathais played futbol and reminded me of my brother. his mom taught me how to make halusky. his grandmother anastasia made us schitzel and potatoes and brat and cakes. she didn't speak english, corrected our czech/slovak, tried to make us eat and drink more. she gave me the recipe for medovnik. i went to church with them in the little white building on the hill.
he would cook for me on sundays. halusky, potato pancakes, some strange combination of something with rice and pasta. he tried to get me to teach him how to make simple american staple food, and i wasn't sure what that was. (pasta? italian. rice? chinese. mashed potatoes seemed to appease him, but we never made them.)
he rolled his own cigarettes. he had a little pouch he carried around, just tobacco and paper. he would roll up cardboard for the end of it. he didn't use filters. he had an old-fashioned lighter with a joker on it.
we would to out for drinks. i don't drink--he introduced me to kofola--but i'd love going out with him. we talked about everything.
i got an email from him this morning. it was a good day.