My name is commonplace, so let me just say the things that matter. To me, at least.
I love marshmallows and sour belt candies. I love feathers and dreamcatchers, tunnels and trains. I love dim lit empty rooms and I love silent solitary walks. I love large open spaces and being under the night sky. I love those thousand stars peeping and that one bright moon that stares. I love the mountains and the forests and the sea. I love the hush of the wind passing through hundreds of trees. And I love the sound of the waves splashing along the shore. I love all those things that make me one with Earth.
But, of course, I love knowing people the most. I am not fond of phone calls and I never look into people’s eyes, but I love having that certain connection with them. I love knowing what they’ve been through, and learning how those things have molded them. I love understanding what they love and how they love; seeing what they see, feeling what they feel. I love talking to people and really hearing them. I love having that privilege to see and feel and touch other people’s soul. And I guess I love being given that trust to witness them bare, with their guards down.
I love everything romantic, and I love everything spiritual. I love connecting, be it with nature or with souls. I love loud, curious minds and intellectual masturbation. I love all things deep and sensical. No small talks, no.
On a less serious note though, I am an unpublished diarist, a head over heels lover of the lost art of letter writing, a masochistic soul-crushing drama devotee, and an impossibly sick patient with an incurable and invisible rare disease called Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension. I guess that is just about all you need to know.