It’ll have been one week this Friday since the last time I talked to you.
In other instances, time flies, but in this regard it’s struggling to leave the tarmac. Time is moving so slowly, and each day is a challenge not to contact you. I want to inquire of your well-being; to ask how you’re acclimating to your new school; whether experience with that teacher has proven the unanimous disapproval of him as nothing more than an aggregate of grievances—is he really the cantankerous pedagogue people make him out to be?
I want to know that you’re okay…
I’ve made the promise, however, to distance myself for a while. You don’t need any distractions, and I have a habit of imploring your attention… School is important to you. I know your break during Christmas was like being exiled from a land in which you flourished mightily and found the greatest joy. Your zeal for learning is among your most endearing qualities.
Just like spectators at a sporting event, I’m there, cheering you on. You can’t see me…nor can your ears extract my voice from the boisterous throng—yes, you have a lot of fans. When you’re uncertain of your next move, I’ll be praying for heavenly counsel, because I roister each time you score. But win or lose, I’m with you all the way, and you know this… Give me your time, give me your autograph—emblazon it in every facet of my life after you’ve finished performing, however long it takes… I’ll be here waiting.
