IT ALL STARTS WITH ONE HELLO

I created this for you.

Because I envy you. You have a place where you can sometimes talk about me, assuming that you do write about me. Assuming especially that that last one was about me, unless somebody else sent you an American poem. You have that place, where people know you, but half the time they do not know what you are talking about. Or so you said.

But I do. I know. I know when you're being playful, or when you're writing with a smile on your face, or when you're being contemplative, or sad, or tired. Most of all, I know when you're writing about me. I know when I've made you smile. I know when I've made you pleased. I know when you miss me.

I want to write about stuff like that too. I want to write about how I feel, for you. I want to write about how I feel about the things you make me feel. I would go on top of my roof, if I had a roof, and shout all about feelings... if I ever felt.

I want to talk about love, too. I have done that, of course, in my past, in my present. I will probably have love to talk about all the time and hopefully, barring fate and her sometimes mean pranks, well into the future. For the one I love... the one I have always and always will... before you.

But it's nothing like this. Never will be, I think. Nothing like the love I need to talk about here. Nothing like what I feel for you.

Maybe there will be some who will find my words and in the whole amalgam of human experience, will bob their heads every once in a while and feel them too. Maybe... I don't really care.

All I care to find here is you.

And the me that found enough courage to create this for you.

Once I said, '... I'm thinking, dangerous.' And you told me, '... and I am thinking, there be but one life, and there be joys merely meant for the giving...'

This is my joy. Something I hope somehow you'd take... in this one life.