I have this question: if we lived forever, do you think memory would even be important anymore? I have a feeling it would become less and less important. I guess death and memory have a lot to do with one another. My love, that all sounds morose, but I didn’t intend for it to be so. I just wanted to mention it.

I was reading a poem. I didn’t think it was a love poem initially, but it was. It is. It says love is a euphemism for “I’ve failed you.” That’s not untrue in fact, it’s sort of beautiful. Loving entails failing.

Baby, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed you so much. I will continue to fail and continue to continue and continue to love.