There’s something I adore, truly adore about conversations with any souls. Not the surface chatter, but the way one sentence can feel like a hand gently offered in trust. As an ENTP-T, I live in language Words of Affirmation, fleeting glances of sincerity tucked inside syllables. That’s how I stay warm in a world that often forgets to tell.

Words aren’t just tools to me, they’re treasures. I collect them the way some people press flowers between books. Every sentence shared, especially from someone dear, becomes a line I carry with me like a secret in my pocket.

I find joy in reading, but more than that, I find joy in reading you. The way you write, the words you choose, the silences between your phrases... they speak. And sometimes I hold them in my memory like a favorite page I keep turning back to.

I’ve walked through the heavy, haunted corridors of Dostoevsky's worlds, his questions, his chaos, his aching brilliance. And maybe, just maybe, on a quiet evening, I could read them aloud to you. Slowly, softly. Letting the weight of his thoughts settle around us like candlelight. We could wander through his pages together, not to find answers, but to share in the wondering.