For me, there's something satisfying about the scratch of pen or pencil over paper that just isn't there in typing. I want to write this with loops and lines of sweeping black ink on rough pages and mail it to all of you. It's impractical, though. I don't have the time. It would be hard to justify the use of resources. So much is lost in this compromise we have with reality. We call this compromise life. The tragedy of no ink and no paper and no wonderful feel of writing is small, the sort with which we deal daily. I'm posting this to you and you'll be able to read it, perfectly legible, but I want to paint the words directly onto your eyes with soft watercolor brushes. Don't be nervous. Just be still. It tickles a little, that's all. You can read it for a split second and then your tears wash it away. Here goes. I have to get pretty close. I hope that's okay. Try not to blink.
Hello, friends. I hope you're well.
Later. Love.
