Facebook says there's one unique person who keeps coming back, reading my poems and posts.

It doesn't tell me who you are, or where you're from—only that you're somewhere between 35 and 45.

I say, let yourself be known.

Speak your mind.

Step out from behind the numbers.

Identify yourself, champ.

I know my poems are good—and yes, they're long. (LOL.)

I know I'm finishing a story, and I have that right.

I dream I'm throwing bars at a moving target, sending verses into the dark, never knowing where they'll land.

Yet somehow, you keep showing up.

I appreciate your numbers, your clicks, your quiet loyalty.

But why are you reading my work repeatedly?

Are you sneaking away to read, stealing moments from a busy day?

Are dream weaves waking up to me, carrying my words from your sleep into the first light of morning?

Are you from District Heights, or a chocolate-peach beauty adorned with tattoos?

Are you curiosity, or are you regret?

Are you laughter floating through the air like scented musical notes?

Are tears or smiles traveling across state lines because of something I wrote?

Or are you trapped inside a bad decision, wanting out but unable to escape?

Do my words remind you of someone?

Do they remind you of yourself?

What do you find here that keeps bringing you back?

Who are you? And why are you here?

Why do my words keep finding you?

And why do you keep finding them?

Until you answer, you remain a beautiful mystery—

the unseen reader, the silent visitor, the one behind the numbers.

Who, why you?

-VillyMarlou