I met you some years ago, and to be honest I didn’t pay much attention to your story. I was just taking that class for fun, to sort of de-stress from the frustrations of an engineering career, and I wound up meeting you.

The way you talked to Oskar, I kind of brushed that all away, because in the end, you couldn’t save him. I was very young at the time, I was very foolish, I felt like your story was a waste of time, I felt like what you did didn’t matter, because ultimately, Oskar committed suicide anyways. I didn’t take in the gravity of your words, of your actions.

Oh sure, I wrote a six-page essay and mentioned you because you managed to extend Oskar’s life, but, I never really thought what you’d done had meaning.

And now I understand.

Now I need you to come, and train my tongue. Come and read beautiful poetry to me, translate it into a thousand different languages and give me back what I’ve lost.

Come with your books, and your stories, and your optimism! Come with coffee, tea, soda, some liquor! Come however you want!

Just come.

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