We’re all just a mess, Angelina, trying as hard as we can, we love imperfectly, Angelina, but it’s okay.
This harks back to My Name is Lucy Barton, where Lucy reflects that we all love imperfectly. Because we do. But so what? We love! Why would we not be imperfect in our loving, who is perfect? I would like to know. And Patty understands this. Of all people, Patty understands this and is trying to convey it to her friend.
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