‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t write about me. Write yourself into me. I don’t want to be a letter or a verse, a poem or a novel. I want you to give away the words you seek to define me by. I want fingers that bled ink to bleed blood. I want your heart to detach from your brain just for a moment. No second guessing, no self-doubt. Take a breath and let the words fade into actions and let your heartbeat match mine. Take your time. You’ve been hiding behind that wall for too long. It’s time to live for no other purpose than living.’ …