Writing is, in the end, that oddest of anomalies:
an intimate letter to a stranger.Pico Iyer, (1957 – ), British-born essayist, novelist…
dear stranger
dear friend
i saw you
on the street
last night
you were walking
by my window
your light
shone bright
in the glow
of our local
milky way
i could tell
by the hold
of your eyes
that you were kind
but cautious
my traumámeter
sensed
a vibration
of pain
unexpressed
you’re a painter
an artist
a writer — but aren’t we all
you play piano
like me
you find yourself
in a room
all alone
with your words
your paints
your music
our language
of primal
connection
don’t wait
don’t wait
until a loved-one
dies
until a friend
is lost
until the pain
overwhelms
don’t wait
until the moment
has passed
to find a phrase
that heals
—
i see you
friend
you belong
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thank you Ava, Hayley, & JW.
And I see you 🩵
Beautiful thoughts, Darren. Thank you.💕