I know her in a way that no one does. The way she slowly paces back and forth, murmuring the words she just penned down. How she gets frustrated, flying into an inconsolable rage, destroying everything she just made.

I know that she always leaves when she wants to and I know that she will always come back. I don't mind, it's not for everyone to understand. She is special like that, off on her own — too spontaneous to be confined, too unpredictable to belong.

Unhostile, halcyonic, loyal, doors always open — the way she has always trusted me to be. I welcome her as she takes yet another deep breath of my stale air mingled with the smell of stationery and paper. I wait and anticipate for her to express and create within my four walls.