I am running towards you, dear. I want to be here, I want to stay. I want to stay and be here for now and for a little longer. I have ten fingertips and some flour; I will bake for you a loaf of bread for each day. Six days you will be gone and when you come back your little belly will poke. Because you allergic to love and yeast, it makes you bloat. I will mix the flour with the salt and kisses and make a wishing well in the middle and wish for you to find the Laistrygonians and the Cyclops the wild Poseidon on your way. On this big trip of yours. I will not wait. I will not weave and unweave every night. I will just write and read and cook little loafs of bread and swim from time to time. And one day, I will just see you again.