There is a famous painting, Nighthawks, by Edward Hopper. I am in love with that painting. Sometimes, I think everon is like the people in that painting, everyone lost in their own private universes of pain or sorrow or guilt, everyone remote and unknowable. The painting reminds me of you. It breaks my heart.
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Maybe my life isn't all that interesting but at least I'm busy. Busy doesn't mean happy. I know that. But at least I'm not bored. Being bored is the worst.
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"Suprised that I'm invited, Mom?"
"No. Just suprised that you want to go."
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Summer was a book of hope. That's why I loved and hated summers. Because they made me want to believe.
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I was in love with the innocence of dogs, the purity of their affection. They didn't know enough to hide their feelings.
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"Is love a contest?"
"What does that mean?"
"Maybe everyone loves differently. Maybe that's all that matters."
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