Give me a notebook. Give me some blank paper and let me be. Give me a purpose, a house to build or a story to write. Or a home. Food to cook with bright-colored walls surrounding me. Give me lots of laughter. Give me occasional patches of nostalgia. Let me give and give, from my hands to yours, until I forget what it’s like to hold back. Give me a quiet space and good books to read. Let me feel paper between my fingerprints. Draw me a bath and sit there and talk with me about your father. Or your dog. Have endearing gestures and speech patterns. Save time for me and time for adventure. Yell at me when I’m being difficult. And put my face between your hands later. Know me like the back of your hand. Play with my hair, please. Give me a reason to stay up late.