Dear Pupil.
I often think of you when life bids against my wishes. What are any wishes worth compared to your destiny, killed by your own father at age 19, young, happy, ready for life. A young promising light was so crimefully dimmed – you – but not forgotten.
Thinking of you in a dark moment of my own gives hope, gives promise. Because I will promise you that I will return even stronger than weakened just now. The best answer to everything is just to live on, to install happiness and good fortune in the mindset and to focus on own abilities. Who the f*ck cares about the “others” ? As Sartre pointed out, the others are hell.
Personally, there is no way that I can be put down, not by anyone, not by anything. And I am totally “beyond bullshit”. I do not feed on lies or hostile reactions and I do not maintain relations with people without integrity or that keep double agandas or fill me with crap. People need to earn my respect and it does not bottle because of a fancy Title or a big car. In case you didn’t realize: these things span in Time like moisture in the desert. Very shortly ! I don’t need the junk of pretendence. No, show me something real. Feed me with wit, humour, intelligence, playfullness, curiosity, action, some of the stuff that creates memories for Life. Then I will be yours for keeps !
Well yes, I’m bleeding just now but not for long. Why ? Because none of the common nonsense in ordinary life compares meaningfully with your fate, dead Pupil.
For you, I lift my eyes, once again.
“The eternal feminine draws us ever onward and upward.” Goethe