Then I told her what I didn’t see. Namely, that I didn’t see her.
You could be standing a few feet away—Clara’s dance partner, or across the street taking a picture of Rudolph before he takes �ight. I could have
sat next to you on the subway, or brushed beside you as we went through the turnstiles. But whether or not you are here, you are here—because
these words are for you, and they wouldn’t exist if you weren’t here in some way. This notebook is a strange instrument—the player doesn’t know
the music until it’s being played.

Author: David Levithan