I feel like maybe I advertised myself falsely. I thought I liked to write, I thought I was good at communicating myself that way. But ever since I met you, I've had the most frustrating case of writer's block. Frustrating in that I get frustrated when I think about it, but I don't think about it. Ever. I'm too busy absorbing the experience that I don't want to take any effort away from the feeling of what's here right now. And I'm afraid that if I turn my back on it, if I stop bathing in it, it will disappear. That's ridiculous, I know. But see, it's not. Because I just read what you wrote, and now I don't want to do anything besides sit behind you and play Super Mario World, while you talk in your best 'Vietnam Vet' voice about killing Americans, and Egyptian Jasmine floats around the kitchen, and the peace that I've found here with you (the peace I was telling you about this morning, remember? It's profound.) emanates from and inundates everything in a cycle around me. I love you. Maybe Plants vs. Zombies....