Hello, Mr Governor.
A one of a kind,
A one in a million,
A needle in a haystack,
A drop of rain in a drought,
But more so like a lemon among rotten apples.
Too bad, civilians are so used to eating rotten ones,
ones that full of worm eating out their body, not to mention
their brain.
That once they’re handed an expensive juicy lemon,
all of their inside churning, their mind riots, demanding
rotten apples instead.
Unbeknownst to themselves, they get addicted towards those decomposed
fruits.
Like a virus, like a zombie, it spreads vastly, turning people
into moron rats.
Creating endless chaos that feeds the demon itself.
Being a lemon,
You will yourself to crawl around dirty corner, going
through slum’s gutter,
to a place where you’ve been tortured, battered, mocked, and
crushed repeatedly.
When in fact you can escape and sit comfortably on
supermarket’s convenient refrigerator.
Yet, here you are, fighting for them, for us, putting your
faith on people, restoring humanity.
One day, when my children ask me whether miracle exists,
I’ll recite them this story,
about a hero being thrown under the bus
yet kept fighting for the sake of its people that had disavowed
him.
Much like Marvel or Mission Impossible’s tale.
Except this one is real, and they will know whom this story’s
about,
for they will learn this at school,
for your name be written
in history and forever be remembered.
My sincere prayer goes to you, Mr Governor,
as well as million unspoken wishes from thousand others for
your well being.
Xoxo,
An orange.
