Our first conversation bordered on magic. Discussing travel, literature, and God. When you shared your art, I knew I was finished. Writing, photography, and song. All the ways I've crafted my life to exist in an era immune to beauty. Yet you seize them with every breath as though creativity is air. I'd love to share a world with you, created by our lack of boundaries and freedom to explore. But I exist too fully in this one. While you float carelessly into the next.
To love a writer.
