My dream job? I’ve figured it out! To be your biographer. I don’t think anyone would approach the subject with more love. Or with more enthusiasm! There’d be a bliss in it that’s sure to come through! To uncover those littlest details. Ones others would skip over. I’d be drawn to those seemingly inconsequential moments in your life that were actually quite big. Moments that tailored the winds. All these things that set you on a course of being you. Someone would read it not knowing a thing, but she would leave saying that most important thing: “This writer has such a tremendous love for the subject. You can feel it come through.” Maybe someday when you have a shortlist of authors who work for the right places, all capable, but somewhat dry and detached. They don’t feel those deepest places. You’ll remember, and there’ll be a sparkle in your eyes. And you’ll say, “This guy. I remember. … I want to hear it from his perspective.” And it would be the joy of my days. And my nights. Hours of interviews in order to put it together. What’s the driving theme? What’s that feather in the wind. What was there in the life of this girl when she was three? Her earliest memory? What carried her along? What sense of purpose? What did she know deep down? How did you become the star that you are. Did you always know? It could be an autobiography. I could be a ghost writer. Simply a helper. I don’t need my name on it. I don’t care, about any of that. It’s the job itself. What greater bliss than to be lost in all that is you? What better way to “make a living?” Even if it doesn’t pay a penny. I’m set as it is. Maybe someday. When a list of capable but boring writers are presented to you. Something in you remembers, and you say, “No, I want to see it through his eyes.” This guy I know who loves me. There’ll be a bit of magic there that won’t be captured by another pen. He might even see something I didn’t consciously see myself. When all the words are put together into something coherent with form. There’s no mistaking the love in something. You feel it when it’s there. You miss it when it’s not. Even when your mind isn’t aware, it’s something you feel deep down. The job of writing of you, it never feels a job at all. It’s a celebration. It’s where magic is uncovered. I’d feel like Jeff Lynne! When producing the Beatles in 1994. How could such gold be placed in my hands! And it would be met with such loving care. To be entrusted with this subject matter. This one of K—— *——s! So much bigger than the Beatles to me. So much bigger than everything put together! I’d hold it with such loving care. I’d be determined to do it right. I’d leave no stone unrolled! But knowing it’s not the details, per se, it’s the message, it’s the energy. It’s this capturing of you. However possible such a thing could ever be to do! And to get it to the page. So someone feels they know you when they’re through. And she feels a bit of this love that I feel for you. Something in your essence, that finds its way through the sentences. It’s the glue that holds this dream of you together. When asked my dream job, this was the thought that came to my mind. Maybe someday, who knows. You’ll remember and say, “There’s a friend out there I remember. I feel I know him on some level. I want to see it through his eyes. And hear the story retold to me.” A lot of people could do it, but there’s no replacing the love. There’s no mistaking when it’s missing. I know that to gift it to his hands, it will feel like manna from the gods, for him. He’ll handle it with care, as if it’s a newborn baby in his arms. I want to hear the story of my life. Retold to me. With so much love in it. Maybe someday, you’ll say, I have this certain someone in mind. It’s the perfect job for him. He’s been preparing for a lifetime. ❤️