Last night, we stood face to face, May Pang and I. Her soft eyes–– that still to this day, more than 40 years later, tear up like clockwork at the thought of the love she and John Lennon shared––rested on me, and my youth. Here I was, this 22-year-old girl (same age as she, when she waded so deeply into life with him and the happenings of the rock ‘n’ roll scene of the ‘70s) standing in a sea of silver-haired folk, telling her how utterly touched she felt learning her story…

Mouth open, eyes wide as a wild animal, hands gripping my papery brainchild made tangible, head shaking a bit in disbelief, they ask: “Just how long did this thing take you?”

“Ohhh, you know,” I reply, shrugging off their inquiries. “Too long!” I announce in a half-joking, half-alarmed tone, as to undermine my past ten months of devotion…