Beautiful stranger…I saw you in the novel I am reading. You are a beautiful man. They have called you awkward but I have read on and particularly enjoy that you are so peculiar. I have begun to seek your quaintness wherever I am…hoping that in the midst of this world’s vulgar disorder, I can see you live and breathe. On black faces, the Indian race, white people, Asians? I can feel that the hope you had for equality amongst all mankind has been passed along generations as each man and woman wake each morning to go to work, to serve their children so they too become adequately equipped for their morrows. I can recognize the stomping of your feet; it’s like a call to the masses to plod on past hardships and tumultuous circumstances toward the betterment of our generation. I love that you are a survivor of sorts…you basically taught yourself to read and taught yourself law. I hope one day, or even today you will gravely influence the man I call mine.
