Lawn51Outsider's Space

No single event can awaken within us a stranger whose existence we had never suspected. To live is to be slowly born.

My point is: in this whole wide world the only person you can depend on is you.

With everything that has happened to you, you can either feel sorry for yourself, or treat what has happened as a gift. Everything is either an opportunity to grow or an obstacle to keep you from growing. You get to choose.

My sister told me a soul mate is not the person who makes you the happiest but the one who makes you feel the most, who conducts your heart to bang the loudest, who can drag you giggling with forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in. It has always been you.

I keep writing about sex. I think, I mean— all I want is the after of it, after you took my skirt off with your teeth, after I was so clumsy with the buttons on your shirt that I ripped them open because I was so fucking frustrated and they bounced around my feet like pearls, rolled under the bed. You thought it was sexy and fucked me against the wall with my bra still on. I felt like a queen. Saw, in the unforgiving morning light, where your mouth had been. And your nails. Your sweat. Now all I want is tenderness. I hold eggs in my hand at the grocery store, check them for cracks and leaks. I try to do the same to myself. When I go to restaurants I stay for hours, ordering nothing except wine and tracing my finger around the glass rim until it sings. When you said, Your skin is holding you in nicely, I cried. So now you know. Don’t leave.