The Idea of You, Part 3
A name can be a dangerous thing. Hopefully yours doesn’t overburden, overpower, or underwhelm.
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You also began with a word. Or maybe it’s more precise to say that you began with an idea, which became words, which became you. And yet, you remain each of these things in part, knowable and unknowable.
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I don’t know who you are, but I love you. That’s without conditions and without pretense. You’re at once half your mother and half me, but all your own. What a miraculous thing.
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