A Pretty Sound

I like things.
I think.
I like rain
and warm weather
and happy piano
and sad cello
and bagel bites
and warm water
with bubbles
and flowers
and miniature blue calculators.

This is my version of "Raindrops on Roses" because I think I need it. I believe your absence is depressing me, and I don't like it. Come back, dear.

I think I'll listen to upbeat music.

I think that writing should be a way of being honest. Even if a story is fiction, the author is still giving insight into his or her mind, which is the deepest and most potentially secret-hiding part of humans there is. So, really, even if an author or artist tries to keep something hidden, art and writing are expressions of the person creating it, and things are going to be revealed. No matter what.

We really must finish Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I need to know how it ends. Not that you haven't basically told me everything.

We need a new list. What are your four favorite words...in any language, I guess, but I don't think it will make much sense if you put random German on your list. However, if you would like, it will be acceptable.

And we kind of watched Incredibles...does that count as knocking it off of the list?

Ah, I'm glad Memaw still loves me. Her approval of me has become more important to me than I thought it would.

I'm glad you like my house.
I like it too.
I will be living there when I'm thirty, probably.
And we'll go and fly more kites than you could ever imagine. On the mound, too. And we'll look at my favorite firefly place and have crazy adventures. And cloud hunting, which we STILL HAVE TO DO.
NO exceptions.

We do have time.