A library of memories, explained in the only way I know how. Where hands meet photographs, as if for the very first time. And words find their way to my lips, and past my tongue. Studies from an unforgiving place, who leave me asking for more. No end is true without a beginning. The first step in the dance. The last note in the tune. So where shall I begin?

It’s never been about the vessel, but the glass through which you see. The transcendence of weather passing and birds migrating. The condensation on my water glass, and the bitterness of an early orange off the branch. I want to join hands with you, and this earth. Let’s write ourselves love notes for one day when its all gone. Let us bask in the overwhelming joys, and sink down in the seemingly never ending sorrows. Recognize me, study me, adore me.

May that same little girl who painted in black and white, feel the weight of the ocean, and the light coming through the curtain. A library is only as full as the dedication of it’s reader, and I dedicate this one to her.