It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorry. If you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from the fear of further pain, mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.