When Imma died, or just before she died, I wrote her a love letter. I read it to her on her last day. And then I read it the next day, at her funeral. So, it’s not by accident that I did not do the same with Abba. I kept asking myself if I wanted …
Choreography of Love
I don't love my children the way I might love milk chocolate. Loving them is like loving really stinky cheese, or coffee; it's deep and primal, complex, involving so many taste buds and the interaction between them. I am sometimes repulsed and often full of craving—occasionally simultaneously—and can't imagine my life without them. I'm not …
All of the Worlds 