We call, and write to each other.
Warm feeling shared in letters, or in phone conversations.
We send each other magazines, books, or poems.
We sign them, with love.
We are old writers.
Some never tasted success.
We accept our limitations, our humanity.
We are blessed.
We know the beast.
We love the same great words.
We have our heroes, in an age where heroes are lacking.
The old writers.
We have each other.
We seek neither fame or fortune.
We spin a good tale.
We talk of our demons.
We share our pain and our dreams.