I should write, and tell you the stars are your best friend, that the Earth whispers in gratitude every time you walk on it. That you are never truly alone. You’ve been hearing that you are no good any more. That your cares are not that of the Earth, that the people when you sing your story, smile and politely turn away.
Your cells are a rhythm of life and their music was given by God to sing. Their chant is that you are free. Freer than the moon and the call of the lone wolf at its base. Their cares are not yours and neither is the silent sun alien from you. There was a voice that called, and in every note could only speak your name.
But could you listen? Is your love deep enough to hear it?