If I could say it in words,
there would be no reason to paint.

— Edward Hopper
RickyMoon.com Photoletter

9801

TAFT, CALIFORNIA, USA. CIRCA 2020

Seneca

Just as all vices become deep-rooted unless they are crushed when they spring up, so, too, such a state of sadness and wretchedness, with its self-afflicted torture, feeds at last upon its very bitterness, and the grief of an unhappy mind becomes a morbid pleasure.

I have heard it said that for every four years one loves another, it takes one year to mourn their loss. I have found running from the mourning process never ends well. I have also found mourning must come to an end at some point or it, too, won’t end well.
—rm

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