I think if I had to marry any famous person based solely on their sense of humor it would be Jimmy Fallon.
Love lost—the despair of a tie broken, maybe forever. The loss of the constant and never ending landscape of his skin and this uneven hair color, the haunted green eyes that always look so sleepy.
Love found—in myself, in that boy, in my art, in the singularity of a soul released from a bond that once overtook her, once caged her with the pretense of society’s version of acceptable adoration.
The universe works in strange ways, doesn’t it?