Dear profe. 

A letter. 

Written too few these days, sharp, black ink on paper like a smooth glass of water. 

(inhale) ahh. 

Refreshing. 

Refreshing when I stepped into second period.

Shoes off, life changed, 6th grade, what a ride but peace in the harbor. 

Ships set sail as our minds are set free

Change it all, no boundaries

I lose my shell, free my arms, 

Jumping and leaping as I’m seeping through the cracks,

Ooze out of the walls

But you, profe, you had the gall

To challenge me. 

Like no one else did

You spoke to me, your voice coming through my deep reverie

And I listened

Be vulnerable, you said

Be brave and confident, you said,

Blend in and stand out, you said, 

The pressure keeps building, the memory fades,

And we fall and regrow, learning as we age 

As I turn I see you

A leader and I’m back in your room.

Rosseau once said, man is born free and everywhere he is in chains, 

except the harbor. 

I dance, I fly, I am free. In the house that you built.

You built the harbor, more than a room

You, more than a teacher

An inspiration

A hero

We all have talent but without a mentor, 

What does that give us? Zero!

You were my mentor 

And for so many others too

One does not have to shine in the spotlight

One does not have to stand out in a crowd

Or be chased by Paparazzi 

To make an impact

Those who change people

The large and the small

Those are the true heroes.

And you, Profe. You top them all. 

Respectfully, Luka