I open up the page of your writing, and instantly I am drawn into the words. The story is of something so familiar to me, yet so new, it is the story of how we met. I read it with a small smile, delighting in each and every word, remembering it all, turning the words through my head until they are imprinted forever. Upon finishing it I look back upon it and notice the way that you portray me. When you speak of me, you speak of me in a way that no other ever has. As if I was somebody...somebody...somebody worth it perhaps? Somebody with some sort of loveliness even? The moment I think either of these things my usual record low self esteem kicks in and asks me why I'm even considering such a thing. I begin to slip into sadness again, but then I read your words again and I am back into those moments, those moments that started it all, and the smile creeps back to my bleeding lips.