You interesting, colorful, humorous, strange, introverted, son of a queen—I am in love with your world. You see order in chaos, and lines in your zig zags. You, speaker of the now, living in the future and avoiding the rejections of the past—strong individual— you: you are my enemy and my friend. Collector of bottle caps, rusty nails, and sidewalk garbage that is always “the evolution of street art” –spray can tagger who lurks in the dark — midnight writer surfing through insomnia— can you please share your secrets? Sometimes, dearest, I think you are fiction itself. Sometimes, dearest, I think you are full of yourself. Sometimes, dearest, I can see all artists in you—writhing, wondering, waiting for the next message to deliver what we want to hear. Your stroke, your pencil, your keyboard, your fingers to push against the canvas of life and create the message that is bursting in us all. Tell us our message. Dearest, tell us with colors and letters what we already know. Give us confirmation. Say: life is beautiful, and strange, and short, and for just a moment, take our breath away. Let us recognize ourselves in your piece, so that we may continue with our own journey. So that we too…can evolve. Artist, dearest, let me understand myself.