I've tried writing this letter a few times and I end up shutting my computer because words fail me, much like many things have failed me these past few weeks. I looked across the small table while we shared antipasti last week and I said I might have lost my mind. Stress, you said,it's just the pressure you're putting on yourself...don't worry about it. I said it might be a tumor and you rolled your eyes, insisting it was not, in fact, a tumor.
The following day you found me in bed curled with my computer, crying. I said I was going to give up. You quietly shook your head and closed my computer. Well, if you're going to quit, it'll be tomorrow, after you get some rest.
When I came home from an engagement shoot in Las Vegas last week, you and Polo--parked just outside the Arrivals gate--waved from the front seat. Well, you waved. Polo barked. You handed me an apple (rightly anticipating my travel hunger) and threw my bags in the back seat.