The past four years have taught me that there’s truth in the written word – and I’m eager, now to go out there and chase it.

I wrote about you and what I’ve experienced through you. So little, seeming like a lot, so I wrote thinking I knew. I didn’t.

I think everyone who creates anything feels this way and so I pushed through.

At Noodles on 72nd and Amsterdam, Ronna seemed a little weird, and when we started dinner, she told me she’d had a date on Thursday with a guy in publishing. She said she wanted to “clarify” things, but I wasn’t sure what she meant. I told her it didn’t bother me at all that she would see other guys and I encouraged her to do so.

I took the 96th Street bus to see her, and we did laundry and brought in Sichuan food and had a good talk. Then, in her bedroom, we fooled around. It was great but also sad because I may not see her for a long time. After all these years, I still love Ronna and am just as attracted to her as when we started dating back in college.

Last night at Tanglewood was terrific. Listening to the Boston Symphony play Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition and being near my new friends on our picnic blankets, I experienced what seemed like a moment of pure happiness and tried to sear it into my memory, for days in the future when I’m feeling down.

It almost seems as though my lifeline is wired to it. My breathing capacity is measured by the amount of lives I touch with my words. 

It’s obvious our attraction to each other hasn’t faded. I love seeing all my old friends in New York, but with Ronna, it’s different: my heart leaps a little. I went out with her to the bagel bakery on 80th Street and then walked her back home to 95th Street. She gave me a bagel and a kiss at the door.

We tend to find ourselves in odd and sometimes infuriating situations that are unique to the business we are in.

The golden rule of fashion design also applies to freelance writing: Style matters.