Have I ever told you how the scribbled lines you sent my way almost daily make me want to go on living?

Have I ever told you of your generosity when you answer for me the dumb questions I keep asking myself?

Have I ever told you how I appreciate the effort you make in assuring me that I am breathing?

Have I ever told you how appeasing the light of your language is to me?

Have I ever told you how the smile of your language makes me smile?

Have I ever told you how liberating your writing is as it wipes out all possible refutations?

Have I ever told you how your disembodied voice is for me an instrument of interior music?

Have I ever told how your modest attention to the details of my futile activities is important to me?

Have I ever told you how your quiet and resigned courage encourages me?

Have I ever told you how your weaknesses strengthen me?

Have I ever told you how your tender attention to my follies delights me?

Have I ever told you how the delicacy of your need for me makes me want more? Have I ever told you how your comments on what I do make me want to do more?

Have I ever told you how your reading of what I plan to write forces me to write what would otherwise remain unwritten?

Have I ever told you how foolish I feel that you are always willing to listen to the unimportant things I have to say?

Have I ever told you how necessary it is for me that you are there?

Have I ever told you that even when you don't speak I hear you?

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