expand_less Dear my friend - The Bird,
 
How are you doing? It's me again, Kashaf. The stone. Yes. Okay. Call me a mountain, but it's still rude.
Apologies for being so long in writing to you.
I've had the time. And it's pretty easy to throw this all into the wind where you'll undoubtedly find it after you're done pecking for whatever it is
you eat. 
 
Dust?
 
I don't know. I feel sort of mopey lately.
And on top of thatthat, I know that I promised for a long time to tell you what I know.
We are good enough friends, now that I think about it, and somesomething thing should know that isn't a stone.
And as rude as you are, we are that certain kind of bound, even apart.
I wish you would visit and stand atop my peak awhile. But I know you follow the warmth and, I guess, I don't know what else.
What are you doing out there The Bird? I know so much, but somehow only you, for a short time, get to see it all from a reasonable distance.
 
Anyways, I guess I've been avoiding these letters,letters since I knew they'd make me introspective like this.
But perhaps writing this out will help me understand why I'm feeling this way.
I know your eyes are short and mine are long, but it still can be hard to see it really. 
It can be terrible.
 
Sometimes I'm jealous. Or maybe it's nurturered.nurtured. You and your family are the only ones around here taller than me.
I don't feel small very often.
 
I don't know. I'm measuring if this is right.
When we first discussed this I told you, again and again, that there is no one past, and that there is so much of it,
 that that by the time I get it all out on the wind, you will have died. Better to live and ask me what's needed.
But I don't want to deny you and create some kind of vision of ego, even though it's honestly precaution. Please ask me to stop at some point.
I'll portion it out as I can, but it's easy for me to lose track of the scale of things like these. 
 
Okay. I'll begin.