Timmy (James)

Dear James,

Hi.

Grace is so weird for making us write these, huh? I don’t know what it is about her but I am
really happy we’re friends.

In case you forget in the future, we told her some of our secrets. She’s different. You’re
different
too. What happens with that in the future?

I don’t really want to write anything down. I don’t know what to say to you, future me.

I just…

Are we still friends with Melvin? Did we... Did we ever tell him...?

I think you should know that I have felt like a lot of people have asked me to do a lot of things
that I didn't want to do; not bad but just things that aren’t me. What should I do? I guess maybe I
should stop, right? Even if these things that people want me to do or this person people expect
me to be is coming from a good place... ? Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t be pressured to do things
just to satisfy expectations that don't come from me, right?

In the future, do we still let people stop us from doing a lot of things we want to do? Do we do
the things that scare us?

Grace says we’re magic and that we have magic in us. Did something magic happen to us?
Can we make a pact? Just us?

Ok how ‘bout this? I will try to go full out to pursue what I care about // regardless of what people
say. I mean they don't understand me (Us) anyway. Will you promise to do the same? Maybe
it’s easier to do as an adult…

Ok we promised each other.

Thank you for listening.

James
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking // with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle // moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.