I’d say I was born in the wrong century. I’ve always preferred cassette tapes and records. I’ve always preferred the worn out pages of books. I’m the kind of writer who wants to carry a leather journal and a pen with them at all times just to scribble down observations. I’m the type of person who wants to spend a foggy morning outside. I want to send handwritten letters and write you adoring notes instead of digital words that have lost all meaning before they’re even read. I’d say that I’m living in the wrong time, but I’m lucky enough to be alive at the same time as you, my dear. I must be in the right place.