Because I would rather write a letter.
And so I do. To maita. Who has to forgive me for a really
late reply. But you ask: "Who do you want to read you?"
The guy at the back of the bus wanting to go home.
A bored girl waiting for her turn at the ATM machine.
My mom.
My dad.
My dead lolo, whom I never met.
The grade school classmate, who didn't laugh when you fell.
The smartest girl in class, and the dumbest girl.
My childhood friend, who I haven't seen in years.
The girl who got me to love reading.
My students, the ones who love to read.
Someone who hates music.
Someone who can't afford music.
Trees, if trees could read.
Someone who will totally miss my point, but will read me correctly.
A girl born blind, who holds the page but cannot read it.
A tired man, who when he closes his eyes sees my words.
The same man who will wake up the next morning, and forget everything.
Someone with a bad memory.
Someone like me.
Someone not like me.
