"I feel like when I’m talking to you, I’m talking to myself," I said.
"Huh?" she said.
"I mean, I feel safe when I talk to you. It’s like I’m talking to myself. I feel that degree of safety. I know you’re not going to use what I say to hurt me. It’s a compliment."
"OK," she said.
I lead many separate lives and let almost nobody into all of them.
When friends from my different lives come together, it makes me anxious.
I want a few safe harbors where I can dock and not feel worried about being blogged.
My writing comes first in my life — except for a handful of relationships. But without them, I find little solace in writing.
I can only get close to people if I promise not to write about them but I can only write well if I can get close to people.
Without close connections, I drift. My life has no meaning.
I can only write well if I write passionately and I can only feel passion by getting inside of people.
"Please do this for me. It’s for my writing."