Twickenham

I am currently nestled by the heater of my temporary English turf. I've such a love for this cozy, little community. I am a forty-minute train ride from the bustling city of London. Perhaps I shall return one fine day for a bit longer than ten days. Oh, the inevitable responsibilities we must carry on our shoulders that prohibit us from packing up and acting upon the beats of our hearts. 

I have, as of late, become increasingly provoked as I have been ruminating on the fact that most cannot appreciate each other unless a commonality of one's work is involved. Should you and I resist relation due to our seemingly unsimilar language? 

Yet I, too, lack grace for the opinions that have been directed towards me in regard to a lack of understanding in my interests. For instance, I feel a vast sense of contribution in the exchanging of communication. Simple, it may seem, but I believe we are all deserving of direct communication, and we've all a longing to receive it. Should one suggest that such correspondence is unproductive, I would truly doubt that he/she and I may posses any concept of each other's emotive language. How is it that an intimate friendship can exist without the discernment of another's needs, preferences, love language, etc.?

I give to you, reader, my condolences as I seem incredibly pessimistic. I'm honestly in hopeful spirits. 

Please, though, do give to me your thoughts. 

And if you've the time, listen to "On the Safest Ledge" by Copeland. 

All My Love.