I read to live, to breathe

I cry at everything, and that’s on a normal day. I cry at sad events, whether for me, a friend, or a total stranger ordering a cappuccino at the coffee shop where I worked during college. I cry at commercials. Before my period. During my period. After my period and until my next period. My tears are like ready soldiers, prepared for battle and marching out at the first hint of trouble.

My strength is my patience. My contentment. My lack of a need for drama.

[She] asked for nothing not because she feared she’d never get it, but because she was a master of creating her own truth."

“I’m not trying to be someone new. I like me. I’m good at me. It’s all the other non-me people I didn’t want to be around anymore.”

I could feel the pain in my heart, waiting for acknowledgment. As long as I didn’t give it space in my head, I could pretend that it didn’t exist.

There’re other gentlemen out there in the wild and you’ll find yours. When you do, you make sure he hands you the world and not an ounce less.