Whenever I see dark blue I think of you—of the walk we took through the blackness and how the only colors which caught my attention were the vibrant sky and your almond eyes. We discovered your secrets hand in hand, your thoughts tumbling out as they rarely do. I caught them all like scattered beads and laced a string of strength and promised silence through them, treasuring their frenetic energy, their resounding calm, how I could feel all of you as I tasted your realizations—warm and cool, bitter and sweet as they reacted with the late night air like the distant explosions of brilliance in the heavens above us. You imagined we were among the last souls on Earth, with no journey insurmountable to us. At the time I had to agree that the idea had its intrigues, but as I lay in bed that night my mind went on its own adventure…

Let’s write our own world, darling. Between us we have words and imagination enough to sculpt sanctity and weave wonders out of the blank slate of possibility. Let’s make a place just for us where all the flowers sparkle with dewdrops and nobody does dishes. You can take a few steps back—abandon your mature demeanor and run and play like children do. And when you fall, like children also do, I’ll be a net for you. I’ll gather you up and stroke your hair and we’ll walk together in our land born from ink splattered across torn bits of paper until we grow fatigued and our creation stretches without our command. But have no fear, darling, for no matter the challenges we must write our way through, one thing will remain true: in our world, the sky will always be dark blue, and I will always think of you.