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I am thinking of her and strings of words that matter so much. Full words with experience and deep places in memory. I told her that reading her writing is a bit like drinking a song and feeling the ideas soak in as notes travel down, grasping meaning as lyrics are absorbed, until they become a part of you.

This might be like friendship. I want to believe in the existence of this kind of friendship. Pebbles, hued by the sun and shaped by water pathways, no two alike. You can never find them on purpose, which is inconvenient but more special. They surface in the middle of a moment and they stay, painting beautiful scenes and dreaming with you as long as long will have... as antiques that you guard with all that you can spare of yourself.

They might light the dark and whisper wonder-filled wisdom with gentleness and kindness. And it might feel like a breath.

iPhone 5, AltPhoto | at one with
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