de los mares.

I fear my anger. So I displace it, attach it to peripheral places or people. The real problem is what to do with the anger. I have stifled it so long that I have packed it like dynamite, I have stored it and now it threatens to come out in explosions I fear.

So here’s my question: when you lose the most important person to you in the entire world, where is all the love – love you never even knew you were capable of – supposed to go?

why is it always the woman who has to see past the beast in the man? why does she always have to clean his wounds, even after he has damaged her beyond repair? why is it always the man who is worthy of forgiveness for being a monster? I want to see the beast in the beauty. the half smile, half snarl. the unapologetic anger. I would like to see the man forgive the monster. to see her, blood and all, and love her anyway.