Sunday, May 1, 2011

The last day in April.

I want to write to you at least once a month. It doesn't feel right letting a month pass without a pointed introspection of you and I. Me without you. You and the moon. Old me and you. New me and you. Your birthday month was a busy one. Aside from you turning thirty in the sky, other stuff happened too. 
When I was a kid, I used to tell my teachers that I wanted to be a philanthropist. I didn't know back then that a philanthropist was essentially a wealthy person who gives their money away to animal shelters, little leagues, and free clinics. All I knew was that in Greek it meant a friend of the people, and that sounded nice.