His name is Eduardo, some call him Ed or Daddo, but he is always honey to me. We've been together for twelve years now. He is my travel partner, my closest friend, my lifeline, my cheerleader, and my one and only fan. He is my life's constant. He makes the best burger in the world. He is 20 years my senior and is sometimes mistaken for my father. He is the only person who has the patience to listen to me ramble about dead authors, dreadful traffic, Duolingo, and the desperate state of the world. He obligingly reads the obscure books that I recommend and (grudgingly) wakes up in the wee hours of the morning to go running with me. He doesn't believe in any supreme being and neither do I. He is at times taciturn and inscrutable. He likes to travel to exotic places like I do but leaves all the planning to me. He refuses the straitjacket of conventional life and is unconcerned with position and appearances. He loves the Cubs, chess, his big bike, street food, golf, okra, his kids, and me. He makes me happy. He is old, fat, bald, and now ill, yet he is and will always be the love of my life.