I confess. I am content to be alone. Not, perhaps, a true solipsist, but nevertheless untroubled by solitude. At least for a length of time. But the other part of the confession, if it is to be a true confession: I have learned, through long and arduous grasping and gaining, to love family. All my blood. The evidence is that I have given up what I had for me, what I wanted for me, for them. Time. Money. Comfort. Pride. Justice. Image.

Mea culpa

mea culpa

mea maxima culpa.

mea maxima culpa.