Passe-partout.

Words are tricky, emotions chaotic and complications clearly unwanted. So we agreed that there wasn’t a need for tags and definitions between us. Yet occasionally we are confronted with uncanny parallels to our life, in the casual unfolding of a sitcom, or the pages of a book. They prompt us to dig just a little deeper into our own subconscious. It was likewise that I found the near-perfect articulation to my early impressions about you, as I read the prologue to 'Around India in 80 Trains'. Passepartout. My (prospective) travel companion.

The wanderlust - our dreams of the road (and gypsies and caravans); the frustrations and limitations against taking off, albeit not for shared reasons; and the desire to ‘get lost’ – had lend to the solidarity. I relished, connected to and had started to look forward to our conversations, the occasional scrambled eggs and coffee, and the somewhat lame yet seriously rendered downtown rendezvous. The growing camaraderie, the wish lists, the short getaways, all agreeably nurtured my vagabond dreams. And the prospect made me happy (and hopeful).

Though tags and definitions can mean no more (or no less) than our actions, I say this all the same. I think of you as my Passepartout.