Too many words to say something quite simple, really.

I probably compliment you too often, I don’t want my words to lose their value. I want them all to be worth something to you. So here’s some light honesty.

When you write, you go forth with a net of brilliance, and catch thousands of brilliant creatures, while I sit in my rowboat and wait for the right fish to drift by. I’m really not sure we can judge who prepares them better since we’re both vegetarian now, but I think the ingredients are what truly matter, and you certainly have a larger variety.

When you write, you remind of a hurricane. You blow through with ferocity, and nothing looks the same when you’re finished. The best I can hope to do is lay one or two bricks on the foundation of my work today, maybe I’ll get more done tomorrow.

When you write, you remind me of an architect. Your creations are expansive, and beautiful, and I could get lost exploring the corridors for days. I am glad that despite this, you can still see the effort I put in to building my humble shack. It brings me a lot of joy when you leave your palace, and join me for tea here.