Right here

For one moment, daydream. Sit and imagine you have not one thing to do. Not one crumb on your slick plate. Not one. No matter where you are, do it. Do it as you read this, and consume yourself into my words. You can hear nothing but my words. My words are the only thing you know. Listen. Listen to the rain. Watch the way is falls. Watch the pattern dripping from your roof top out the window. My blinds are closed, two are peeking out to the sky. My eyes go beyond the sky. The world is transparent. Nothing is in my way. Focus. Count how many drops heard every moment. Your moments might be longer than my moments. My moments might be longer than your moments. Look straight through your shield, and to the trees. The hallow roots stand in sorrow. My lamp is dim. My desk, scattered in letters to NY. "The distance is only physical, my love," written on the back of the envelope where my saliva and banana yellow paper meet. My kitten, lying under my office chair sound asleep, as my left foot is folded under my right so that I don't hit her by fault. What lay between the keyboard and my soul is a to do list as following: clean room, find journalism photos for interview, choose psychology research topic, study for journalism test on Wednesday, Bonnie and Clyde?, letters to lovelies, and create a birthday wishlist. What a net. As for tonight, I choose between an a cappella show or a symphony for extra credit. Either way, it's going to be a nice night. The rain is much calmer now. Are you still here? Look up, at the ceiling, or at the stars, whatever time it may be while you read along, and smile. You don't need a reason to smile. Do it. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Have a wonderful day. I'm always here for you, as cliche and misused as that saying is.