There's no way you could have possibly known
when you called while I was driving home,
but the whole day my thoughts had been
utterly preoccupied with plans for the moment when
I arrived and would go into my reclusive
mode. I had thought too much about those elusive
non-feelings, and how I could quickly achieve
them. And on the ride home, I couldn't believe
it when I found something that had slipped
my mind-a pocket knife. Now equipped,
a renewed sense of purpose fueled
my drive. Then you called and my thoughts cooled
considerably, instantly. But you knew,
like you somehow always manage to do,
that I wasn't by any means okay,
no matter what I attempted to say
to convince you otherwise. So I drove
and you crawled in my head and wove
a net for me to fall into. And you stayed
on the phone with me until the call of the blade
was drowned out by our laughter sounds.
You managed to, yet again, turn me around,
and I don't know if you realize just how much
of an impact you can have, how such
insignificant words can change the course of a life.
So I'd like to thank you for helping me beat the knife,
not just today, but every single day.