Scary, because when you really love, it means that you are really scared of losing it as well.

Hurtful, hard, like concrete but also the soft, silky, smooth, cool pillow that you lay your head on. It’s like birds singing in the morning with the aurora going over your head at night. That’s love for me.

It feels like all is possible.

Strength, comfort, joy and passion.

Citizens around the world blaming others for their personal disappointments, othering them, labelling them, terrorising them with hate-filled rhetoric and shutting the doors of their hearts.

I would have been a better listener. I would have pursued more friendships instead of focusing so much on work and myself. I’m doing all that now, but I’m running out of time.

Not being at peace with myself, in spite of an ongoing lifetime effort to try to calm down and accept that, no matter what, I did the best I could.

To my father, for not telling him the truth when he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and going along with the family lie that he had hepatitis, when he knew he didn’t. At the age of 17, I lacked the courage and strength to stand up for what I believed.

Less work, more living.