You've become far more graceful throughout the years. I suppose that's a part of maturation. Your movement was always confident, but never so comfortable as it is now. I can't think of you more lovely than the way you sat in the burgandy arm chair - legs crossed lazily, head resting in the center of your hand, surrounded by dim yellow light with that calm yet ever-so-amused expression on your face. How you still speak to me, I'll never understand.