I love stories budding and growing and nurturing a place, and of the people who are mutually producing their own and consuming the atmosphere of stories, and this interconnection is astonishing.

I love people.

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I love listening to people. Their dreams, struggles, childhood anecdotes, present laughter but a sadness in their eyes, decisions, movement and magnet of their eyes, heaving and sighing and breathing, clarity — they are like stars.

I love the trust they put in a fellow human being, a kinship to a twin star, and the ease they feel with the moment altogether, with their own declarations and silences and circumstances of the present.

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I love lending my heart and ears and coming to connect what they say, do, and feel.

I love pondering about the beautiful, and it is always beautiful.

I love our expressions of all forms and ways.

I love the unlayered human in us. This is the closest we’ve ever come to being home, being.

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