A young, bearded, no mustached man came to me in the moments between waking and sleeping this morning.
He said time was short, and he wanted to sing me a song.
His face was sweet. His voice was sweet.
I rose to thank him, hug him.
I looked at the paper where the words to his song was written.
Two lines, before the one about me stood out.
They said, “I don’t give a fuck about Donald Trump, I dream of his wife …” then the part about me … whatever it was.
My focus cut out after reading these words.
The sweetness of the face, the sweetness of the song, do not match the words or intention.
A friend of mine said that these ones (for this is not my first experience) have been “cut off”.
Hoping it remains so.
I’m certain you are already, but please guard The First Lady well Mr. President Trump. As you know, this is much bigger than the ‘physical’.