Guitar shaped foxes.

 I just learned that a great friend of mine died last night.

He was talented and funny and kind and hardworking and self-deprecating and... wonderful. Knowing that the world has lost him gives me a queer hollow little ache in my chest. I feel saddened and a little sick. But most of all, I feel guilty.

Guilty for all those times I could have seen him, but didn't. Guilty for all those times I opted to stay in, rather than join him and our friends at parties. How many memories did I miss out on making with him?

I'll always remember him; whenever I watch Superman or see someone's white socks peeking out from under their dark pants, I'll think of him. Whenever I watch Pan's Labyrynth or visit with friends, I won't be able to shake the feeling that someone is missing.

I wonder if he knew how much he meant to all of us.

He will be missed; I hope he knows this.

Rest in peace, my dear Jimsie. You were the Jimsiest of the Jimsies.

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