“I wanted to ask him: Did he think about me? Ever? Often? At all? And if he did, what did he think about? Was it my laugh? Or how I fidgeted when I was nervous? Was it my voice? Or my mouth, or my favourite song? Did he think about the way that I argued? The way that I closed up? And how, after it all, I always opened myself to him again? Did he think about the ways that I annoyed him? Like when I was proud and stubborn and cold? Did he wish that I would be different? Or did he shake his head and let it rest? I wanted to ask did he think about me? Because I thought about him. Frequently. Constantly. Because I thought about him more than he’d ever know.”

“You’ll understand why storms are named after people.”

“Remember: the time you feel lonely is the time you most need to be by yourself. Life’s cruelest irony.”

a secret code between women: are you safe? in a contact of eyes. i’m here if you need me, the littlest shift of a skirt, of an inclined head, of watching the man who is asking you to smile, bitch. you aren’t alone on the walls of restrooms, i was where you are too. the quiet doling of emergency numbers, the shelters. the space between two women in a largely empty train station. the waiting game of two women strangers who walk, quietly and quickly, to their cars in abandoned parking lots, who watch to be sure the other leaves safely. text me you get home safe. the tally marks of drinks on hidden wrists, carefully disguised as other things ever since men picked up on what it meant and used it to target the “weakest link.”