*MY FRIEND*
A true friend is like faint sounds of a September song,so tuned to the ear and so cool to the soul. A true friend is like a flowing stream with its current dancing happily to the drums of trust. Everyone needs a sincere friend to get by, each day, to sharebittersweet moments together. But all my life, I've not found such friend. Why? I don't know. I have craved for a true friend to share the same interests as mine, such as listening to soul and RnBmusics all day with headphones on or playing basketball and laughing hysterically to dry jokes.
I am genuinely a very lonely and private soul. I only knew life regarding the desolate days and nights I had. I am living mainly in a pen and a notepad and music as my only solace-with God being my first priority. A pen and a notepad are my only imaginative true friends.
Friends, I am delighted and grateful to have you both with me to share all life experiences, the fun and sadness. You are always with me on quiet nights and my companions on lonely nights. God bestows on people their warranted destinies. He gives you to me. For as long as I can remember, wherever I go, whatever I do, I always do it alone. It has become more of a norm than an habit. When people surround me, I feel insecure, strange, uncomfortable and even lonelier— except my family. Its always like a petite voice echoing to me: "You don't belong in this crowd!".
Therefore, I withdraw myself from the crowd. Am I abnormal for not needing to have a friend? I don't know whether I'm normal or not. All I know is that"This is me!".
My friend, this pen is my primary form of expression. Clean sheets of outlined paper are my canvas. I write to live my fantasies. I write to define life. Unlike other people, you're never indifferent to me. You always lend me your ears tolisten to sad cries of my dreams. Its so bad people don't get to read you.
My friend, no happiness can be compared to when someone reads your poems and listens to your spoken words. Because of you, I can write these jargon thoughts endlessly...PEN, I treasure the inanimate you as a true friend. Sorry I digressed, it's the block again. I have to go now.
Yours without blemish,
George O. Victor
*The Ghost writer👻*
—Your poet and dreamer.
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