You don’t have to be alone. We are mostly born that way, though. We grow up being nurtured to believe that the other half of our soul is somewhere out there. And since there are six billion people inhabiting our planet, chances are one of them is for you. To find that person, to find your soul-piece, or your great love, we must count on our paths diverging, the tangling of lives, the soft whispering of one soul recognizing another.
Amazing how once you open a door for something, there’s no going back. All you can do is brace yourself as you get sucked in, deeper and deeper.
That is male folly; they expect you to always be the same, reliable cow, but women spend their lives changing. Our change can swing for you or against you depending on how fairly we’ve been treated.
We’re all just waiting for someone to stand behind us, aren’t we? Even if it’s just one person, it gives you strength.
When you’ve been hurt and you’re trying to be okay. You can’t let people know they have power over you.
We all do don’t we? We are consumed with our own mortality. Some people eat right and exercise to preserve their lives, others drink and do drugs daring fate to take theirs, and then there are the floaters – the ones who try to ignore their mortality altogether because they’re afraid of it.
Estoy en una niebla y la mitad del tiempo ni siquiera me doy cuenta de ello.
Maybe the real me kept running on that trail, and what he grabbed was a different part. Maybe you could detach from the ugly things that happened to you. But even as I opened the door I knew it wasn’t true. I felt to much fear.
No one has a right to your happiness.
He taught me love, and then inevitably, he taught me loss.
It’s all too perfect, I think. When things are that perfect, something is wrong.
His voice is like raspy sandpaper dipped in whisky.
But I know that as humans we want to be heard, and so when someone does the hearing, we feel a connection to them.
It’s just nicer to be crazy than to be unloved.
People treat being sick in the body as fine, normal, empathy-worthy; they’ll bring you soup and medicine, and press the back of their hand to your forehead. But if they think you’re sick in the mind, it’s different. It’s mostly your fault – I say “mostly” because people have been told again and again that mental illness isn’t a choice – it’s chemical.
Waiting... waiting... that’s what women do. We wait for him to get home, we wait for him to pay attention to us, wait to be treated fairly – for our worth to be seen and acknowledged. Life is just a waiting game for women.
We were all copycats, weren’t we? We saw celebrities wearing high-waisted jeans and then we wore them. Our friends listened to music that we immediately downloaded and became obsessed with. We were a generation of see it, want it, take it.
You only love the rain on your terms. Washington was too much; here is too little.
Didn’t he know that once words were out, they stuck in people’s minds like barbs?
Wolves know when they’re being raised by bears.