I'm not nearly the photographer you are, but I suppose a photograph is truly the best way to show expression. I really wish I could be as artistic as you, though it seems rather impossible. Today, I visited the book store, and decided it was finally my turn for a little black book. I don't even know what to write about, but I hope to hell that someday you'll find it valuable. I hope to hell someday I'll type every word I write into a word processing document for you to read, and if I'm lucky, save. It's hard to beat creating an entire blog on my behalf, and virtually renders this post worthless.
Regardless, I spent my lunch money for the week on this black, leather pocketbook. I bought it for the sole purpose that you may still know me, though isolated by thousands of seemingly unreachable miles. Honestly, I hope that someday I may hand this book to you, personally. So that you may read all my thoughts, meaningful and meaningless alike, and possibly come to understand me better than I understand myself.
I couldn't possibly have imagined typing a post so personal in such a public place.
Don't forget the nights you can't remember. I know I won't be able to.
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