Be the.

Be the person that lies in a comatose bed, eyelids fluttering at sounds, hands reaching for the surface at the tenor of a lovers voice.  Be the lonely half that delivers pain stained beggars words to that bed side.  Be those words, beseeching, desperate, unheard, or heard but not returned.  Be the scared and love starved soul on the other side of the computer that cries because they have no love to sit beside, awake or asleep.  Be the transceiver and the emitter in a world of barriers made of keyboards and emoticons.   Be the joiner of solitary hearts, bring them together to build some sort of family, so we are less alone.  Be the movement of comrades, holding each other close, promising to never go to bed angry.  Be the change that follows behind tragedy, quiet, deep rooted in the knowing of our egg shell fragility.  Be the music makers that dig under the wall of silence in order to reach the other side of awake.  Provide the prisoners with soul food.  Be a bringer of joy to all the people, the awkward, the reserved, the freaky, the lonely, the bold, the frightened, and the self loathing.  Be her.  Be him.  Be You.  And, please, to whomever is listening up there, be the road that leads David back home.