I don't know why I never called. Or wrote (really). Or visited (especially). You could've called (except you didn't have my number). Or written. Or visited (not that I expected you to).

For years you were a big part of my life. Even after I left and we lost touch, I thought of you often. The mark you left on me, though not obvious maybe to you or others or me (until now), is indelible.

I always meant to call (but I was "busy"). Or write. Or visit. (Why didn't I just stop by?) But I didn't. I never called you. Rarely wrote you. And, with deep regrets, never visited.

Eventually, I figured, I'd get around to it.

Suddenly, it's no longer an option.