Letter to Chhuti VII

Chhhhuuuutiiiii, Chhuti, Chhuti,

How could I not write to you tonight? Since you would never listen to me as you decided to befriend and talk to me today, I had to return to our letters. The surprise with which you caught me earlier was not off-guard, instead so amusing, so happy that I didn't mind noticing how short-lived it was. You in your, "do you have a paper? I want to draw" felt as if the heavens conspired for a sweet overdose from which I was deliberately refraining. 

You asked for my name today. Remember I smiled before I answered? I saw that smile mirror when I replied, "K". I think the ease of everything about us, including our names made us friends. Our similar restlessness, our many questions and our one understanding -- a friendship I am glad was born, and is made. With you I have wished to travel, and wished for my daughter to meet. You allow me to paint your oh so tiny nails with a permanent marker and that instance of your permit feels as if there is nothing wrong with this world. You are a squishy magic potion of instant delight, instant relief.

I really wish life were this bundle that you are -- unraveling sometimes a raven's desk on which one could write with a witch's wand of stories coming out of an adventurous pocket. Everything is so liveable, with you. One day you will grow up and I will miss all this. If you read the letters, who knows, may be you will miss yourself too...or, would you find yourself, like I do?

You make things happen and happening,

K.