The Chronicles of Narnia really misled me about Turkish Delight. Have you ever tried it? Because it is not delicious. Or delightful.
We love these books, dearly and uncritically, the way we love the smell of our first girlfriend’s perfume, no matter how cheap or tacky it might have been. Let’s be honest: We all know that Ulysses and A la recherché du temps perdu are “better” books than The Velveteen Rabbit or The Little Prince, but come on—which would you take with you on a spaceship to salvage from the dying Earth?
Look, other bands, they want to make it about sex or pain, but you know, The Beatles, they had it all figured out, okay? “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” The first single. It’s effing brilliant, right? That’s what everybody wants, Nicky. They don’t want a twenty-four-hour hump sesh, they don’t want to be married to you for a hundred years. They just want to hold your hand.
We are walking down the street holding hands. There is a playground at the end of the block, and I run to the swings and I climb on and Henry takes the one next to me facing the opposite direction. And we swing higher and higher passing each other, sometimes in sync and sometimes streaming past each other so fast that it seems we are going to collide. And we laugh and laugh, and nothing can ever be sad, no one can be lost or dead or far away. Right now we are here and nothing can mar our perfection or steal the joy of this perfect moment.