I'd written a long poem for today's blog entry, it was all about the heartache I'm going through at the moment and all the pain I'm feeling.
And then I met a young man who was in real crisis: threat of homelessness, serious illness getting worse and no family to support him; you could see the panic as his whole life was threatening to collapse around him, taking him with it.
We spent 30 minutes together, as I did the best I could to help him and also lend an ear as he off-loaded some of his worries. I could see in his eyes that he trusted me and needed me to be there for him and to help avert his crisis and I knew I was going to do every in my power to make sure he was OK.
And that's what made me think, fuck poetry, fuck self-indulgence and fuck my small problems.