All the years of my life I thought I was searching for love I found, retrospectively, to be years where I was simply trying to recover what had been lost, to return to the first home, to get back the rapture of first love. I was not really ready to love or be loved in the present. I was still mourning-- clinging to the broken heart of girlhood, to broken connections.

posting on tumblr.com:

"Sometimes, when I'm careless, I think survival is easy: you just keep moving forward with what you have, or what's left of what you were given, until something changes — or you realise, at last, that you can change without disappearing, that all you had to do was wait until the storm passes you over and you find that —yes— your name is still attached to a living thing."