Lumière

There are stories only you have to tell, because there is no one who looks at the world in the way you do. There is no one else who listens to the whispers tucked in a soft breeze or understands the wilting petals whimpering. There is no one who feels the earth in the way you do. You are the one.

you were someone else, before all this. it is easy being cruel to me. you killed the girl that loved me and you wear her body and you text your lovely new more-interesting friends and forget me at the new more-interesting parties and crack new more-interesting jokes “you had to be there for”. you smile over at me and you are smiling with all her teeth showing. you wear her voice to so casually rebuff me. remember when i was the first person in your call list. when we would stay up late watching netflix until we were sleep-drunk enough to think everything’s funny. when you’d invite me over for doing nothing so we could sit together in silence, my heart all humming. your laughter was a summer morning. you used to slip your hand into mine and you used to nuzzle my neck during hugs and you used to leave a little chapstick on the rim of your mug.

You,"he said," are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain.

This is one more piece of advice I have for you: don't get impatient. Even if things are so tangled up you can't do anything, don't get desperate or blow a fuse and start yanking on one particular thread before it's ready to come undone. You have to figure it's going to be a long process and that you'll work on things slowly, one at a time.

You can keep as quiet as you like, but one of these days somebody is going to find you.

Being proper and sweet and nice and pleasing is a fucking nightmare. It’s exhausting. As women, we get the message about how to be a good girl – how to be a good, pretty girl – from such an early age. Then, at the same time, we’re told that well-behaved girls won’t change the world or ever make a splash. So it’s sort of like, well, what the fuck am I supposed to be? I’m supposed to be a really polite revolutionary? … It’s impossible.