I know already that I can survive it. That's the sorrow of it all. That whatever comes I'll survive it. I mean, even if the worst were to be true, would it really be the worst?

Artists are always the Johnny Appleseeds of gentrification.

It's just I get this feeling -- and I can't believe I'm telling you this -- but I get this feeling that life with him will be really, really good, but that I'm not a key part of that. You could take me out of the equation, replace me with someone else, and it would be the same equation.