Well enough to know I've barely touched the surface of her long lived experience.

[ That's said with a wry smile, that turns warmer as he looks down at his hands. ]

I wish my mind worked like her telepathy does. With everything being a back-and-forth, a sharing rather than an involuntary taking of knowledge. I've spent a few afternoons chatting without speech with her, or tugging her along the museum in my mind. Even the heavier, darker parts of her are a delight.