Happy birthday, Diva.

It's almost hard to believe.

It's been more than 25 years since the day we met at that renaissance festival, when you mounted me on the wooden floorboards of the rustic cabin I sold art from out of, and more than 15 years since we parted on a winter's afternoon. I can't imagine how many lovers have passed through each of us since then, but I have never forgotten the paths we had tread and the amazing experiences we shared during those ribald, faerie days.

Our Us was, and in many ways remains, a foundation stone for so many things in my life now. So much has grown and developed from things that we shared, explored, initiated with one another.

I still remember when you surprised me, having driven from Boston to New York, just to see me when I was working at the BDSM club. I still remember the incoming tide as we spoke over lit candles and offerings of wine. I still remember feeling so proud, so very proud, as I watched you dance around the silver pole. The waterbed. The painted stones. The blonde boy I shared you with in Maryland. Coupling with you on the snowbank, or beside the lake, as our friends circled 'round a fire.

Often, in retrospect, I think the quality of our sex life was at least one primary thing that kept us together for as long as we were. At the time, I was completely convinced that we'd be together forever... but then, I wasn't even in my 20s when we met, and there was so much yet for me to learn.

Losing you was as much an important part of my growth as a man, a lover, a person, as was discovering you. I have, and always will, love and treasure you.