Writing on the iPhone is so personal. I am in bed. I am thinking about you, but I don’t know you. I hold you in my hands as I type. My thumb slides over and around your tender keys, hoping to create letters and words that please you, that connect us across the wide rivers and snowy mountains that separate us. I want you to feel that we met for a purpose. Once, I came to this exact location to be a storyteller, a humorist. Those days are long gone. I am now aimless, but learning how to approach the difficult journey. But that’s tomorrow. Always procrastinating. Tonight I need to sleep. I need to close my eyes. Maybe I will dream about you, dear friend. I imagine your lips taste sweet.