playing tennis & smiling at all the strangers.

lately, i've been dreaming poetry.

i find this most interesting,

because i've only ever written poetry in my waking life

under a handful of times.

last nite, i opened an envelope handed to me by

someone whose face i could not see,

though i tried.

it was a tiny envelope with a little slip of paper inside,

and on it,

it said this:

{every thought, every feeling, all that i am,

is a result of you, and is yours.}

i woke up and felt inclined to spend my morning reading walt whitman and walter rinder.

i was not disappointed.