I know it may seem awful
To bribe myself with other's sweet words and belongings that they so lovingly bestowed to me
But here I am to justify it
I want to do my labors first so I can devote my all to the things you made me
Though I don't know how I'd react if I was told that
"Nah man, I'm just saving your thing for when I'm ready"
Why not now? Why not now?
I might cry, I mean who's to know, since I haven't had that happen, to my knowledge
But I do that with all things, really.
Art and media especially
Since that's what means something to me
And that's how I bribe myself to do things like math
God I hate math
And centipedes
And chutney
But I love you, although it may seem otherwise at times
When I hold off from reading the beauty you've written
But in the past
When I've read what you've written for me
I end up spending the rest of the day basking in the emotion your art cast onto and into me.
And on days when I must do "practical" things
Like write new ethnographies and devote myself to the hindering prospect of solving algebraic functions
I can't be all emotional, for better or for worse
I have Sundays off
I'll open your letter this Sunday
I promise you with all the integrity I possess!
No comments:
Post a Comment