Sometimes at night when I can't sleep I think about your poems.
Your words get caught in my brain at the oddest of times and wont unstick until I recite them to myself
Laying on my pillow staring at the roof.
And I wish I had more of an excuse to know you, and unravel the too skinny boy with his secrets and pen that I know to little about.
You could die tomorrow ( as you have been giving away piece by piece and it has not gone unnoticed ) and I would be helpless to help you.