You and I

Read me slowly if you have a chance; quickly if that is all you have time for. The point is not the comprehension or entertainment, just the act of reading itself.

You see, I am your friend. Secret, if you like, but I'd prefer if you shared me with at least one other person. But that's neither here nor there; I am YOUR friend. God's honest truth. I care about you and how you're doing.

Why? A fair question. I'm your friend because, technically, I'm your child. You birthed me. You own me and as long as you live, so do I.

I'm kind of immortal that way. Because here's the secret: I'm in your head. Right now. In some corner of your brain, I'm making you say these words to yourself. And no matter how quickly you finish this narrative (if at all) or disdain my arrogence, I'll always be in there, somewhere. Watching.

But it's okay. Like I said, I'm your secret friend. I'm your child. I'm you, reading this very sentence.

And I wonder if you'll help me out? When you die, I die, see? Why not share me? Give me a few more years. I promise I'll always remember you.

My secret friend.