I am not really the person whom you call up
just to ask “what else is going on,”
I’m the person who loves it
when you call me because that book last night
made your chest ache and you couldn’t sleep.
You call to make me listen
to the sound of rain falling on your courtyard.
To tell me about your dreams of traveling to Antarctica,
or how some art moved you inside,
or maybe to describe
that rare streak of colour across a grey sky.
You can talk to me about the time
when a human made you lose all hope
and yet you found it back in an animal’s eyes.
Tell me about the time when you bunked work
to roam around the city aimlessly,
or the time when you wanted to give it all up
to seek a higher truth.
These are some of the things I wish to hear from you
because I have some such stories to tell you, too…
(This post first appeared on my previous blog which has recently expired.)