Dear Mr. Anonymous,

What is life like being a mystery?  

Is it lonely, and empty,

Or is it full of soul?  

 

Do ever become tired or bored

Of being invisible?

Or do you forget yourself,

And let go into oblivion?  

 

Dear Mr. Anonymous, I

’m sorry to keep asking,

But I’d really like to know

If you are happy where you are?  

 

It seems to me you don’t get out quite that often,

Or enjoy any real fun.  

You don’t dance in the meadows of laughter and love,  

But seem to drown in the pools of sorrow and sadness.  

 

Dear Mr. Anonymous,

Your reply was quite strange.

You told me you were glad

That no one knew your name.  

 

I don’t understand how this could be,

For I’ve always wanted to be known throughout the world As kind, beautiful and lovely,

But you don’t seek any sort of adoration or fame.  

 

Dear Mr. Anonymous,

How are you so informed?  

Your explanation of the world,

Was harsh, but of true accord.  

 

You seem to have given up,

Your faith in humanity gone.  

I now know why you don’t try to change,

When all of your hope is lost.  

 

Dear Mr. Anonymous,

Did you ever love?  

They say it is the reason for life,

The reason we all grow.  

 

It only makes sense for you to be so cold,

Since you are all alone.

If only there was a heart out there

To warm that stone of yours.  

 

Dear Mr. Anonymous,

I find it quite peculiar that you seem to know me well.

You even know that my heart was painfully broken,

When I was merely twelve.  

 

You understand my troubles,

You understand my dreams.  

But I know I realize, Mr. Anonymous,

That you are in fact me.  

 

Love,

yourself.