“There are more I want to write,” he told.
“Then write,” she answered. Sensing hesitation, unwanted silence after but unreadiness to say, she continued in erasure of the pause. “Don’t ask, and don’t explain. Just write. It’s your art, your adventure, your own experience in creation—make it. Don’t conform and hide to fit another’s expectations of who it is that you should be. Be who and what you are, in all your ways. Live the experience and life you wish.
If you want to write it, if you want to make it, do.”
She smiled, a warm summer smile emanant from soft tanned skin, and eyes of mirth and energy of sun and day.
“Maybe your divergences from expectation are enjoyed greater than you think.”
She laid her head upon his open shoulder and kicked long legs that after swung loose and free from tailgate where they sat; and to her touch of hair on open neck and weight of head to him, heart and body swelled in warmed to felt affections.