Like everything I write and draw, I, too, am open to interpretation. And like you, I can only imagine, and can never quite be certain, what it is, if anything, that I withhold. And therein lies our strength and bond, which is not undone, even in its passing. Even if they remain unspoken, the disasters in our lives, the trials and despair, are all revealed in one way or another. If I say I love you, it is because I have already known love and lost everything, like so much grain in my hand to the wind. And if I share in your joy, it is because joy, too, is my teacher and companion.
November 12, 2011
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