My words may not be as polished as the words of others but I write them for you nonetheless, hoping one day they touch you. I don’t think that I've ever before wished for something with so much of my being as I do now. I long for the dead of winter, when the air is moist and the breaths are visible clouds. When the trees are on the verge of graying and the birds warm up their little chicks some more. When the world seems to be teetering on its edge, it’s magical, the way that in a few months everything stiffens, dies and after it passes, it turn grows once again into vibrant life. The snow melting under frozen toes, smoke rising from the chimneys and the way the wind blows hair across reddened freckled cheeks until we can inhale new air, dewy with the droplets of the spring harbinger on softened grass. I’ll never take it for granted, this death and rebirth. You are my unconditional consciousness. The truth is, without you I'm without feeling, without matter, without perception, and without determination. Let me kiss you with my soul, to steal a sigh.