To the middle school English teachers
that simplified Shakespearean plays to the last syllable, feeling like the same dagger of odd epiphanies.
The distinct powdery paint stained floors, acrylic smudged tables and the coffee aroma by 09:03.
An art class educated by a poetic tongue, flicking through all art movements like he existed eloquently in each.
Our engineering & graphics teacher who simultaneously mothered us as her own from the isolated section of block D. In the background, a blackboard with meticulously drawn site plans of the highest precision. Her shouts were just as sharp.
To my spontaneous IT teachers that taught me how to maneuver through binary dilemmas and store any distress in random access memory.
Or to the person who found my wallet with my ID and bank cards but had no idea where my cash disappeared to.
The aloof B15 bus driver constantly arriving before the last bell, especially on rainy pastel gray days.
The far too kind Mrs Sharon. I've never met you personally. However, your positive impact on my grandparent's life rolled both from their tongues and into my life.
Thank you.
