[This originally appeared on the blog one year ago.]

Oh, Jean-Louis. You problematic, magnetic SOB. Ninety-two years to the day after your birth, and we-the writers, readers, and open souls of the world-still cannot escape your torturous orbit. As for me: my heart is willing, but my mind is not quite able to sprint the final few yards into your embrace. I promise to try again, like I always do. You know how it goes. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s not me, it’s you. It’s the two of us, together. I love you and hate you and love-hate-hate-love you. This dance we do will never end; the steps and the rhythm will change, but the tune will echo to eternity. Until next time.

Love and kisses and shrugs,

Maedez

On the Road

“I was surprised, as always, by how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.”-Jack Kerouac