I know this whole situation is all very difficult (perhaps for you more than anyone), but I don’t think it’s fair that you hold my talent as a singer against me. Nor does it make sense. You see talent everywhere. “Jerry’s a wonderful golfer. Tina’s a wizard with numbers and Taylor makes very sound investments,” you have said many times. So why do you deny me? You remember the poems I showed to you some months ago. My tremulous fingers as I handed over those crumpled, sweat-damp pages? How my eyes darted everywhere but into yours as I ached for some flicker of your approval?