[ ah, well, that... that definitely does paint a picture, doesn't it? Abel can't help but imagine the ocean stretched out in front of him at the imagery, so perhaps the memory of saltwater air, the impression of many beaches of Venice's white sands - or Barcelona's, or perhaps the glittering sea sparkling under a high noon's sun at Carthago - seeps into this bond. ]

There is a certain power in the written word regardless of the form it takes, isn't there?

[ poetry, or prayers; Bible verses or love letters; eulogies and scribbles in a journal late one night. ]

Though I can't say I'm familiar with 'magic' in the sense you're describing, Mr. Matt... maybe those things are magic in their own way. It doesn't seem a stretch you'd find something magnetic in them, though I'm quite curious what sort of poetry tickles your fancy if we're staying on topic...!