I want to feel. I want to be wrapped inside another’s story, like a novel, a long novel that will take me years to comprehend. The novel of a life, a character, of a joy and pain. I want to be beside him and appreciate him like art, the complexities, the questions, the ever lasting soul beneath his chest. I want to fill the holes inside his heart, and be the shining light when darkness settles. I want to be a rock, a friend, a person far too irreplaceable to forget. Is this my fear that I will be forgotten? In ways it is. I forget far too many people, maybe this is my karmic fate. But I know that I want that. And as I am right now wrapped in my novel, and its beauty and complexities fill me, I yearn to share it with someone other than the silence of this room and the page inside this book.