The journey to this point of self-acceptance isn’t easy. The people we expect to help us can disappear or disappoint us.
The pandemic created ample space for Death to sit with us, where we once fled from it.
If we never see ourselves replicated or lived in any form, we become remnants of the past — like ghosts waiting to be forgotten.
Much of the human condition is on display, especially its nastier sides, in these graphic novels.
Every year my parents remind me that I’m getting closer to middle age. It’s both a joke and an indictment.