He spoke to me

about the greats,

the beauty of language,

the way it has this ability

to capture every moment

in a persons life. 

I liked

the way he spoke,

it was delicate,

he was not arrogant,

he had a talent,

he was not scared

of the endings,

he revelled in the beginnings.

I lent him hundreds of books,

each signed and dated,

I never wanted him to forget,

I even wrote short poems

at the back of each one. 

I knew he would flourish,

I knew he would bloom

and grow into the most

arrogant man I now know. 


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