I love how beautiful your name is when I write it. Your name is magnificent on its own, of course, but I love to watch the ink flow from the pen. Intermingled with my imperfect thoughts, your name makes my sentences whole. This canvas has witnessed me scribbling perfection again and again. There exists magic when pen finds paper.

The first capital: bold, commanding, attentive, supportive. The vowels have curvature like heat rising. The consonants are delicate and precise. With an easy stroke I can string your name like the letters were pearls.

I write it and I have to say it out loud. It tugs at a yearning within me, and I must pause, mid-paragraph, and collect myself as I marvel at how ravishing your name looks on the page.