Where The Wild Things Are

Maurice Sendak died today and I feel a strangely strong sense of bereavement.

Where the Wild Things Are was  my favourite. I loved the book, I loved the Wild Things, and I loved Max. I identified myself with Max. I wanted to be Max. I wanted to have my solitary adventures into the night, through a day, in and out of weeks, and over a year. And I wanted to return back to where someone loved me best of all.

Where the Wild Things Are became a part of who I am, and to know the man who wrote it is gone kind of hurts. So I send my love and kind regards to Maurice Sendak. He will never receive them, but I am grateful nonetheless.

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