Dear Ben Jones,

You painted the words I have dreamt about before I met you.
You don’t remember, but we met as molecules.
You painted me beautiful before my face fully formed.
Searched for you between blank pages hoping to find my next poem in your eyebrows.
My notebook hides your name, my breast begs for your hug.
You have been nameless, faceless and I ignorant of your importance to my purpose before September 25, 2008 when my heart smelled your paint and resembled your passion.
Although our energies have orbited around each other, I dare not call you local.
I haven’t seen enough of the world to shake your hand.
Don’t know enough languages to converse in your dialect.

You wished for fifty lifetimes. I pray for this one to have your light shine in mine. Yes, I pray for you. Look for you in colors, mimic your art before I ever saw your hands. You have been motivating me to breathe.

Don’t ever stop painting, stop loving, stop giving, stop living.

I needed you, and now I know your name.