The other night, I had a dream about a good friend of mine (though since we parted ways in our studies, our contact has become quite infrequent). I dreamt that he had somehow disappeared; some mysterious illness had consumed him whole. I was in his house then, and his mother told me that she didn’t now what it was, that illness, either. And I felt incredibly saddened by the news. The first thing I thought was about how much I actually cared. I didn’t know it. The business of the days had it very well concealed. We go along our lives so happily, among our immediate friends, and busying ourselves with our immediate tasks, that we forget, little by little, the people who once made such a difference to us. I awoke on the next morning full of relief; I still had that good friend in my company. And it just so happened that it was birthday. I wished him and asked him how he was.