Moleskin 4.3: For What It’s Worth

  I should say, too, that I don’t actually know you. I may pretend to know exactly who you are, in order to relate to you, but you, my other, are a stranger to me; I will believe I can see you in a mirror, as I have seen my parents’ faces (or maybe more arrestingly, the other way around), yet I will admit to only imagining there is even a glimmer of their faces in mine or mine in yours. But I am speaking to you all the same, hoping you might get something out of my story. As I write this I’m fairly certain you aren’t even listening, barely noticing me scribbling away, or maybe years away from hearing me at all. But this story is for you, all the more, the point for my point: to show you, dear other, that beyond birth and life is more life, more than you might expect; to share some of the river secrets that can help you pass the time; not to tell you who you are —you know that more than I ever will— but to tell you an “other” story, for all that it is worth.