Knowing people takes time, which we all swear we don’t have, or some mitigating circumstance like being caught in an elevator, or war. Huddled in the foxhole, Liz and I said it all. We were judgmental and bitchy together—desperate and existential too. Occasionally, we were our highest and bravest selves, working our way through the darkest ideas. I was lucky to know Liz that well, to know anyone that well. You can’t be really loved if you can’t bear to be really known.
