I met Kate today.

She does not know me.

But I know her.

At least, that was what I thought.



Kate is admirable.

For she thinks deep and is

Poetic.

I am angry at her.

For she has wrote down all my thoughts

That I'd been conjuring up

All my life.



Copycat, you are a-

Copycat, Kate.

Copykate.



You are just like me,

Or am I just like you?



Kate thinks of God.

I do too.

Kate thinks of
her family.

I do too.

Kate thinks about people.

I do too.

Kate thinks about world problems(famine, race riots, wars, nuclear bombing, terrorism, political riot..)

I do too.



But she was here, 1989.

I came at 1993.

So does that mean
I'd lost?



Kate, I'm envious of you.

"Why?" She popped up,

Out of the blue.

Because you have Emily.

She shrugs and smiles.

Because you have a mother that does not says," I told you so."

" She IS my mum, after all." she said.

Because you have a dad who bakes, sometimes.

" The bread turned out so Heavy!" she exclaimed.

Because you told the world about you.

" But they missed me," she sighed.

Because you can think deep and be poetic and

Knows what to say and how to arrange

Your words so neatly and creatively in sentences

That I raged in tears.

Because you're here, saying these thoughts for me.



“Well, I guess I am pretty lucky, in some ways,” she said.
“But, you’re not too bad yourself.”

I raised my eyebrows.

"I mean, loads of people care for you, Grace.
Because you are standing so inside of yourself,
you can't see them clearly."

I blinked.I shallowed.

"I like your long, ebony hair,"

I smiled. I think he likes it too.