I was so thankful that Tim shared his poem about his first love with me. And
here was what I wrote back.

> Dear Tim,
>
> Thank you for sharing your poem. I enjoyed it very much.
>
> Teenage love is bitter-sweet in the mind. Often, one cannot help it. If you 
> feel like to indulge, I don't blame you as I certainly did.
>
> But it is fickle at best in reality. You already know many things are not what
> they are cracked up to be. What you cannot have always feels more desirable 
> than it really is.
>
> It's a better bet to grow strong in body, mind, and spirit. Then, you don't 
> need to pray to gods or men for anything. That's what my life so far has
> taught me.
> 
> It's hard to do and you might say that it's easy for me to say. After all, I
> already have had my best gift: you. But for that reason, it is all the more
> glorious if you can achieve it.
> 
> The story continues: after one stops craving, the gods will start to pile good
> things onto him.
> 
> Love
> Dad.

And later another letter.

> Dear Tim,
>
> I think your poem was beautiful and you were both articulate and brave to express
> yourself. ("Davit" was a delightful word, BTW.) I wish I were as articulate or brave when I was at your age.
>
> The fact was, however, I was a socially awkward nerdy fatso constantly plagued
> by a feeling of inferiority. Self-pity was the pitfall I squandered much time on. I
> shared my feelings with no one and I doubt any could have fixed me. That self-
> absorbed unhappiness lasted all the way into my 30s. It was fate.
>
> Only many years later, I learnt D. H. Lawrence's poem which struck me like
> nothing else:
>
>         I never saw a wild thing
>         sorry for itself.
>         A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
>         without ever having felt sorry for itself.
>       
> It is therefore very satisfying for me to see you take a different path to face
> your feelings head-on. Again, I appreciate you sharing with me.
>
> Love
> Dad