what you had originally intended in your writing? Or do you appreciate and embrace new interpretations? Because for me: nothing, absolutely nothing, makes me feel more fulfilled than a lengthy, passionate interpretation of my writing which turns out to be radically different from anything I'd ever intended. It's as though my words have somehow acted as hangers for another person's soul. Their significance is reborn. If every person who reads my writing only births the exact same meaning onto its syllables which I have myself birthed, then the writing has only lived once. It's only me. And that isn't nearly as exciting as having it be hundreds of people, or thousands. I'm thrilled language is as ambiguous and hopelessly subjective as it is. Thoughts?