Over the past year, I've been finding it difficult to write about you. It's not that I've stopped caring ⎼ it's just been so loud, that I didn't know what to say without contributing to the noise. Besides, I'd much rather listen to the words that come out of your mouth, instead of the ones people put in it.
Speaking of which... your latest interview in Vanity Fair. It had been so long, I absorbed it rather greedily. As I came to the end, I was left with so many feelings. I'm excited for all the opportunities the past few years have afforded you, but I'm wistful about the restrictions. I sensed the weariness, but I also see the evolution of you, and this makes me smile.
"My theory is ⎼ we don't really go that far into other people, even when we think we do. We hardly ever go in and bring them out. We just stand at the jaws of the cave, and strike a match, and quickly ask if anybody's there" (Money by Martin Amis)
I don't know you, but I like who I think you are. You have my utmost admiration for navigating through this as well as you have.
With Love,
Tess
