To Letters! And all that you represent.
You are a set of symbols, just a series of lines, dashes, squiggles and dots on a page. Arranged in a certain way you convey such meaning, to those that are able to decode the arrangement, but in others non fate alcun senso.
Sometimes I get depressed about my age. In March I’ll be 26. If man weren’t measured in numbers, but rather letters, I’d be turning Z. And then I’d be dead.
So, Letters, I (and everyone else) just wanted to show my appreciation.