To be perfectly honest with nobody who is NOT listening.

As much as I love politics–as much as I love dissonance–as much as I love argument for the sake of argument, I crave beauty. Beautiful words. Beautiful ideas. Beautiful bodies. Beauty. Pure, Transcendent, mutated, unusual, rare, or otherwise. Beauty is the king of my life. Beauty is the medieval overlord who has written my rules, and told me the terms of my life.

And, I accept those terms.

In the last month, I have been to Paris, sang again, played my guitar, written more than 30 poems, sketched on an easil, and listened to inspiring music. I have cooked for my friends, drank wonderful wine, and laughed until my sides hurt. I have felt hopeless and helpless, and continued to work anyways. I have stretched my days and my hours to fit things that are important–my friends and my family and the people in my life. And, the work filled the empty spaces, and it got done, as well.

And, to be perfectly honest with you–the people who are absolutely NOT listening . . . .

I love you.

Those words are strange. Perhaps they are the most mis-interpreted words in history. In their purest form, however, they exemplify how I feel about you–about this life. The things that I learn everyday from you are invaluable, and I could not live without them.

Thank you for teaching me–even when you don’t know it. You make my life beautiful.