Dear John (Letter)

To the middle-aged,

salt & pepper bearded,

Pink Floyd blaring,

singing along (“Shine onnn you crazzzzy diiiamond…”)

with no shame whatsoever

gentleman who drove his motorcycle past my house this morning while I was laying in the grass

with the dog

absorbing the earth’s ions

while listening to Pink Floyd (“Breathe… breathe in the air…”)

like the eccentric goddess I am…

… come back.

I think we might be soul mates.

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