You woke me up with the way that you lived;
as many to-do's as you had did's.
Six months of progress, renovation of self,
all modestly hidden under your belt.
Your questions matter; still answerless,
from a year ago when I ventured a guess.
You hate contentment; to you, it's a sin.
Leave welcome mats to doors that I can't get in.
But I never knocked; intelligence is proud.
Anniversary of strangers just thinking out loud.