Can’t help but wonder why, like a paper being blown away by the wind, you are elusive. And why, I am like a foolish child constantly chasing after you, innocently thinking I will catch you. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I will. Maybe the wind will blow you upwards towards me, and with my grasp I could clasp your hands into mine and feel why I kept running for you. Maybe then I can start learning how to read the writings on you before the weather damages everything. Maybe then I can write on you a thing or two and our words may one day inspire other paper chasers never to give up.