>Dear ______,

>I'm not the type that gets jealous of much of anything. So it surprises me to say that I am jealous of you. You're living the life that I want, seeing the opportunities that I feel I deserve, and it frustrates me not just because I want what you have, but because I have sunk myself down to the level of envying something that you get to experience. I should be so happy for you, and I am, but rotting at the back of that happiness is a twinge of heartache for what I feel I will never get to be.

I wish you the best anyway because I love you man.


Hamilton Barber

The subject of this page is an introverted writer/musician/lunatic from Chattanooga, TN who dabbles in lexical dexterity, unorthodox thoughts on prosperity, and being overwhelmingly undeserving of the privilege of waking up every day. He hopes that everybody who reads these words takes them to heart and leaps higher than he ever could. He reads, thinks, and speaks too much; he listens, works, and loves too little; and he says “I” entirely too often. The words on these pages are not his: they are the words that were given to him.