The trick is to find the balance between the bright colors of humor and the serious issues of identity, self-loathing, and the possibility for intimacy and love when it seems no longer possible or, sadder yet, no longer necessary.

There’s nothing more intimate in life than simply being understood. And understanding someone else.


We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.”

—T. S. Eliot, from The Cocktail Party (Mariner Books, 1964)

christinasanantonio and thanks, memoryslandscape

(Source: mythologyofblue)