Lately I find you on my mind frequently. A sense of you that has become familiar, and ever-present.
I see something funny or cool or inspiring, and immediately want to share it with you. I am moved by a passage in a book, and just know that you would be too. I stumble upon a nook of a bookshop on a road trip and wish you were there with me to delight in the shopkeeper's charms, run your fingers along the spines of ancient, leather-bound books, poke into dusty corners, and inhale the enchanting scent of decomposing paper and leather and ink.
You have grown on me, you see. In a way I didn't imagine all those years ago when this all got started on a lark. I had no idea you would stick with me for so long. That you would hold me gently in your thoughts, as I did you. That you would show up, again and again, faithfully, cheerfully, week after week, year after year.
I am amazed by this. Constantly. I know there are more effusive and exciting choices out there. I know there are many times I didn't or couldn't show up for you. I know, I know, how much competition I'm up against.
Thank you for this. For showing up. For what you give.
Thank you for sticking this out with me.
Thank you for inspiring me.
Thank you, dear reader, j'adore.
Your word this week is from The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield: