Hi,

I hope you are fine. And in case you wondered: Don’t worry – I am. No just fine but honestly fine. The kind of fine you only find if you look into a mirror after a road trip without money but full of adventure, the feeling you lived every moment like it is the essence of your breath and – no matter how hard you try – no guilt attached.

But I think you already guessed - this is not about me, not directly at least.

So why am I writing you this letter.

I guess you deserved it. No, honestly, you did. For who you are, for what you are doing right now and for all the traces you have left since the first breeze of air found its way into your lungs and made you scream, made you welcome this world.

How can I judge - you may ask.

But then, isn’t it obvious - I might reply.

I am a collector. I collect the traces you left since your first breath. Yours, the ones from the others, everybody’s. I pick them up while you are already somewhere else - far away, probably leaving new traces for me to collect. I then put all the traces on one straight line and start walking up and down - looking carefully at every piece, searching for the ones.

The ones I know I’m allowed to ask for a dance.

I’ll dance with them – until the night creeps its way up the sky - and every one teaches me their own little dance. Before the break of dawn I’ve learned all their own intimate moves, all their little dances.

And then - when the sun hits the valley – I’m already off showing the people who want to be shown, telling the ones who like listening, a new dance.

The one I have put together from my selection of all the little dances.

A Story as you might say.

A Dance as I might reply.