I don't know you yet

Whoever you are, I want to take high speed pictures of your brain and learn to read your thoughts.

Also, regular pictures. Because you're beautiful today, and you'll be beautiful tomorrow, but maybe not in the same way.

You need to be ok when I start to bleed alarmist scenarios of a future gone wild. It'll all work out. I get that. You get that. But it's fun to imagine.

Hopefully you keep an eye on what's going on around you. In the world. In the country. Science and philosophy. You like to talk about these things—we'll erode each other's eyes into blindness, forgetting to blink. It never stops being fun to talk to you.

I want to give you names no one else gets to hear.

You climb. Mentally, of course. Spiritually, every day. Physically, if you have discovered that all three kinds are connected. (Social climbing is fine, but never to the detriment of the important kinds.)

I'm sure you realize that metaphors are not butterflies escaping from the brain pan, making the world beautiful and giving everyone something new to see. Your awareness of this probably doesn't stop you from picturing it, though.

Challenge me. If I ever turn you down I'm not worth your time—or my own.

Whoever you are, you're the moon. I want to ride the waves in your tide, sailing across the force of your gravity. Gliding across the landscape you create, never knowing what you'll send me next.

And you want to do the same.