People connect with us whether we realize it or not. Unsolicited, they relate.. and it can be a very lovely thing. I see this sometimes, at the grocery store.
Yesterday, a man named David brought me poems. Months ago he'd asked in passing, if I enjoy poetry. I do, I replied. So in honor of National Poetry Day, he brought me a small 'book', comprised of four pages, printed on both sides, folded and stapled. Most are a little disjointed, lacking rhythm... but David himself wrote them. He went back to school 9 years ago to learn basic english, to overcome dyslexia. This 50+ year old man has composed innocent and tender verses about a schoolboy's love for a girl at the age of 15.
I know I'm not supposed to reproduce this work, but I want you to see a snippet.
'To live is to write, to write is to live
Now awakening from a long dyslexic sleep
To give memory substance...'
It may mean nothing to others around him, will bring no accolades. But he does it for his own personal joy.. and for that I admire him and his writing.