I’m just sitting here wishing I could draw you. Wishing that I could hold the memory of your beautiful grin just long enough for that. But no – like a needle pulling thread you surface and dive into the colorful fibers of my unstable imagination. It seems that the harder I grip, the quicker the grains of your image run out of my mind’s hands. Your memory is a fragile butterfly that I may only ever watch and never hold, lest I kill it. The ribbons of my thought run and flutter, sketching your face on the canvas of the sky, but it is all blown away by the wind. I delve into the sweet pool of watercolored dreams and blend into the paints of a fantasy I pretend to be reality. All of it is a delightful illusion that shifts like the shades of the deep ocean.