i am writing to one of over a billion people. i don't know who you are, or where you are; what you're having for dinner this evening or even if we write and listen to the same music. you're so much more than i am now, you've thought so much more. perhaps you've had your millionaire thought. perhaps not. maybe you're wise enough to know that expectations of grandeur that go un-lived don't make you any less a person than you are now.
i am writing to a stranger, who has inevitably suffered more than i have. are you still meditating every other morning? do we dress the same (i really hope not...) and most importantly, have you told someone that you love them today? how's alfie? he's turning sixteen soon, and have you spoken to lilley? how's mum and dad?
most importantly, how are you? how are you, rather than who are you. who you are doesn't bother me right now. you're finishing university, soon you'll be buying a home. right now im still just trying to pass my maths exams. frankly i shouldn't care (even though i am curious) to wether you woke up next to somebody this morning, or if you feel alone in that big city. and when you read this, i hope you don't compare yourself to me. i'm the past. i'm unchangeable. immovable. some imbalances in our life won't change. i'm optimistic that you would have recovered, that everyone's still around and that you're in love with your studies and that you're still making success of those silly YouTube videos. but if not, i'm not disappointed. your progress is not a measure of your worth. you've been trying your best. you've done well. i'm proud of you, whoever you are.
YOU ARE READING
you, and my materials.
Poëziegive me a few moments of your time so that i can dress you up in poetry give me your eyes, see the world through mine i beg you to be gentle, please have empathy this is your world, on the floor, by the bed like laundry, pick me up and use me. s...
