Letter to You

Dear You,

Yes, you. The one reading this blog -- the couple of constants who do, and the random ones who come across and finish it through. Thank you. It is humbling that you invest your valuable time and emotions connecting with what I write. It is encouraging and a great expectation I now have on myself when I come to know that you look forward to it, everyday. Over a period of a week, the equation suddenly inverses from my need and decision to blog-a-day, to my want and desire to do so.

What was all that about? This self-imposed prescription of words? You tell me, yes you, what do you think it was? Do you presume I need your attention, your appreciation, your adulation? Or, do you think I am content without it, and write for something else altogether? I must have become this person to you that you choose to make out of me, no? Someone weird, or maybe talented, or prolific and lazy...what? But something that you make me, that is what I become.

Some of you get back to me regularly after each post. A double thank you to you, yes you. That has become an extended part of my writing. How do you do it? This regularity? It is like the cigarette one psychologically needs to poop, you know...one does not actually need it. And then you say, "whatta jolly good poop!" 

I love it, our relationship, of me writing and you reading. For me it is like the warmth of the dark rum I am currently abstaining from. Its taste and texture touches you right from the sip, cycling down your throat, as it travels the length of the food-pipe, and finally melts your soul. That is what you do to me, yes you. Somewhere, unknowingly, you complete me.

Without you, I still am, but just a nothing. Let me keep writing, because you would read. Yes, you.

Yours,

K.