He opened his writing journal.

Natalie, I have neglected you these past few months. It’s scary to think within that time, I gave no substantial thought to your refinement, and any thoughts of your completion ran parallel to a new joy. But no more. We are going to see this through, and not because you are a means to impress someone out of reach. I am going to finish your story because of you. This affair of ours, though a black hole to new experiences, has given me a passion for prose and how beautifully written words can make me sensitive to our fatalities and trivialities. Through you, I can project my personas in ways impossible for me to realize otherwise. People are defined by their job, their friends, their hobbies, the embrace of their significant other.

I want you to be my definition, Natalie.