Dearest

There still are a million things unnamed in the same way that people have always argued about the various shades between green and blue, or what names really meant. I tried to draw a fusilli in hopes of capturing my amazement with its shape, but it needed much more than simple lines. It needed depth, that play in light and shadow.

For years I've tried drawing insects I found on the road and none of which I've captured even it its slightest. They turned out as if they were carved out of concrete: dull and lifeless. The epiphany comes when I've already forgotten about the entire project and happened to look at it--and it would look as if it was drawn by someone else with nimble fingers and an eye for detail. Maybe there's so much more in approximations.

What a beauty to send a letter to someone I wouldn't have the chance to know. I write this letter in hopes of finding sand on the spine of your neck, that it would be just as noteworthy in your time.