In every letter of every word on every page I turn, I search for the promise of you. Who you are, where you are, and what you would mean to me; as I should to you. I’ve read about you elsewhere. In library books I borrowed and novels I purchased and perused. From first grade through high school through college and more; you were always beckoning me from between the lines. Teasing me with hope of what I would someday find. And as I sit here reflecting, moving my fingers over the pages of my journals, I journey my way back through the search for finding you . . . .