...because I'm afraid it might embarrass her.
When I get a thought-emotion bouncing in my head, I can't make it behave until I write it down. So I'm writing it down now.
My friend is related to a friend who is related to me via the zodiac. It's like fate formed a maze of leaves, with this unnamed person staring at me quixotically from behind that screen. I had no idea what I was in for: friendship with someone deep like Schopenhauer, subtle as the Moon floating in purple night, generous as the wounded heart of Empathy.
She writes poems, and those poems move with a profound richness. Language befriends certain souls. It knows it will be well-treated in certain hands. The depth of her writing clues me into something else: the infinity of her mind. Yeah...that sounds way over the top.
What I'm trying to say is that she is a reservoir without seeming end from which the parched might drink. She's the kind of person I could talk to for a long time. She would not only track my eccentric musings but would leaven them with a kinship of impressions and perspectives.
I haven't talked to her. But some things one can be confident about. And maybe it's better this way. That infinite reservoir shimmers as a daydream. And daydreams allow one to expand into. To keep the magic teeming in this world of alarm and sadness.