You are a manna from heaven sent on my 27th birthday. It’s funny how I handed to you the remote control wherein you were trying to reach out for my hand. For so long, I felt unworthy of attention but to you, it felt right. I reckoned my mother amused you when she called while we were watching sunset. You reminded me of her at times using her first name as basis and invited us in Yorkshire on the spur of the moment. Let David Fincher be our only common denominator. But at this moment, let it be known, I think of you.