I love your imagination. I love the way your brain conjures up new worlds and new ideas, with no regard for that which is real. Your rejection of conventional reality is simply astounding. You should be a novelist.
I love your voice, loud and boisterous and echoing. I love the way you scream yourself hoarse, even though no one is listening.
I love your courage. Everything you say flies in the face of fact, but you don’t care. You go right on yelling.
I love your ego, even though it’s the size of Texas. You think of yourself as a savior, a reverse Robin Hood, helping those who already have the means to help themselves.
I love the way you experience life, each moment more intense than the last. You’re able to take one tiny event and blow it out of proportion until you’ve got everybody running around like decapitated chickens. But most of all, I love the way you refuse to change.