Dear Paper,

Words cannot express how truly thankful I am to have you as such a pivotal stronghold in my life. After a long days' work, where trial and tribulation are in a constant cycling contingency, knowing that I have you to come home to puts the zest in my life. You're soup for my soul, Paper. I know I don't express it more often, or ever in as such meticulously chosen words as these, but without you, there is no me. My silent confession booth; devoid of religion or premise. There are no words in the world that could fathomably reciprocate the infinite sense of endearment and solemn love that I feel. I hope one day to acquiesce to being solely with you. Enduring as a homogenous, omnipotent, cohesive machine. I say machine, Paper, but really, I want for what is you to become me. What is me to become you. For every atom that belongs to me, as well belongs to you. I'm sure a being of your popularity and neverending demand has heard this before. I just want you to know that for these words to be spoken on these gray, chapped lips, should make their weight a little bit more leaded and meaningful.

I hope to one day, be able to share the same loving compassion that you have shown me. Thank you. For making me what I am. For curing who I tend on becoming. For being the side-trail of an unpaved highway.


-Ryan-