As I sat down to begin reading, I quickly realized this was a letter to be savored. Not one to be simply read. It was one that required intention and being in the moment with it. It was reading a love story. Getting a glimpse into the life and love of someone I met one weekend years ago in NYC. One whom years later I would quite naturally become pen pals with. But, here, sitting across the entire United States, I can picture her life, her love, and am privy to seeing into her deeper inner self. It is a privilege and a joy. One to which I make a ceremony out of. To make a cup of loose leaf tea. To sit and savor. To be grateful. To give honor to the story I was about to read.