I’m glad to hear from you.
It really means a lot to me.
I know you’ve had your difficulties.
She’s been in the hospital.
He’s been troublesome.
I would’ve loved to say you didn’t have to.
But now, it means the world.
Through everything else
all the rubble
of a disrupted
You till cared enough to wish me
a happy birthday.
Now I wish you hadn’t
because I’ve waited to hear from you
because “happy birthday” is all you said.
And I feel selfish and ashamed
for never expecting more.
People stand the same,
As leaves of grass after a frost,
The past had chilled them,
While the shining future warms to them.
But even those bathed in the reanimated dew
Still look upon their brothers,
For as the hopeful sun rises,
There are shapes of darkness that drift across the land,
Holding some in the shadows for a little longer.
How dreadfully bitter it must be-
To look upon the future with a warm heart,
And look upon your brethren with a cold shudder.
Someone is talking. Off-handedly they throw out an anecdote, a distant friend somewhere in some time. You get a glimpse, a mere snapshot, of a person. Suddenly you are struck with a single point; that person exists. They are so much beyond this image. This person was before this interjected and rough-fit recollection. They were after it as well. It feels odd to you, almost voyeuristic; unbeknownst to this unknown man you have known him personally. But it’s not negative, at least, that’s not the sense you get. It’s uniting. You bask in the idea that the ways one person can relate to others stretches beyond what they can do or perhaps even perceive. This ability goes through people, and into rooms so far away, geographically, chronologically. People can be so distant even entirely unknown to each other, but still relate. There is nothing to witness besides the awe-inspiring power of the connection between people, moreover the grand scale that this force can assume. Knowing this, as perhaps I know it, you reach out your hand to me and introduce yourself.