How are you?
Oh, you don't have to answer. No doubt you communicate in ways unbound to this world; too intricate for an earth child to understand. And yet you resonate, to visceral parts of me, which make me who I am.
Impressed, I drop these words. Into caverns of netscape; echos of meaning, of life and my cerebral protraction.
When I am dust, will you print me out, hold me up to the light & know me?
Can you feel this?
Are you listening?
If so, hear only this: I got my journal. . .
C H A N G E