Yes, you. The name does not need to be spoken because this letter is to you, all of you. You are all unique beings in your own right. The life you live is a sonnet still be written, a painting that still needs dashes of color added, until we meet.
I will sing your song for you. Will it be the one you excepted to hear?
I will unveil your painting. Does the picture match your world?
If I ask you for your story will you tell me of the broken-hearted girl who only wanted to save the world?
Or the boy-who is lonely but has stars in his eyes?
No matter the tales you try to spin I will see you, all of you. The light you’ve bestowed, the dark you’ve spewed and the gray that still maintains in the universe.
Who am I you ask? Well, that depends on who you are. I am buried in the crevasses of you mind. Always there, always waiting.