"Life is like an onion: You peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep."
I love this. This idea. These words. They seem true to me. Because life is full of layers, isn't it? Layers of time, of place, of person. And sometimes, living through these layers causes tears. Big, fat, salty tears that drip down and then dry up. But what if we rarely weep? Does it mean that we are not peeling or feeling enough? That we are somehow denying the layers of our life, of who we are? Or does it perhaps mean that we have grown immune to the emotion of it all, the sting of the slicing and peeling back?