Let the writer write, so that memories can be captured on paper and show their patterns in alphabet. So that we capture the split seconds of time, and the brief sparkle in a stranger’s eye does not go unwitnessed. Give her letters, let her paint portraits of time, of journeys that intersect over and over again. Let words flow out of her, the way water does down a wild stream…raw, inconsistent, real. Let her cough out thoughts and dreams…those that live on and those long abandoned. Let words bleed on paper, until their source remains empty, and therefore…alive.