If killing yourself is not an option anymore, you have to sink into the darkness instead, and make something out of it.
It’s as if he can no longer acknowledge the love he felt or the pain I am in. I have been dismissed. I don’t think I was smarter or as beautiful as the other girls he did this to. It’s just that I was me. It was all I had.
I’m not crazy or dangerous,just a bit eccentric and lonely.
When he kisses me, I cry. I explain it’s not because I wish he were someone else, it’s because it’s such a shock to the system to be desired after feeling so completely abandoned.
I think I’ve lost my faith and I can’t stop writingbecause I don’t know howmuch longer I can hold on.
The goal was to get sane, to get whole, to be complete enough to support someone else.
You do it how you can do it, so long as it’s getting done, you’re okay.
I’m in love with someone good and kind and gentle, and he’s seen the darkness too, but somehow we’ve become each other’s light.
But I saw the pain and sadness in everything, and swirled it round my mouth like a fine wine.
In hindsight, I have no idea why he was ever with me. He thought highly of my breasts. And . . . that’s it, I think.
Time heals all wounds. And if it doesn’t, you name them something other than wounds and agree to let them stay.
No one ever loved you like him. And no one ever took it away so completely. But it’s here. Look around.
Of course he freaked me out. Of course it’s nothing to do with me. But none of that matters. He loved me and now he doesn’t. I was everything to him and now I am nothing.
Now that he’s gone, I feel like I’m a senior citizen who gave away her life savings over the phone. And this is the crux: I never in my life believed in someone as much as I believed in him. The shame is overwhelming.
People don’t know. We don’t know ourselves so we tell ourselves what we really know is other people. We could say the depth of pain we feel for the lovers who’ve left us is because we knew them so well.
When he asked if he was mine, tears in his eyes, I think he knew what he would do, what he would have to do, and he was mourning us. He was mourning us the whole time.
Let me tell you something: when you dance, you are the greatest dancer who has ever lived. And when you sing, you will have the courage to raise your voice to the heavens, knowing that you may never get an answer.
You could be together forever, but one of you is going to have to go first. I want it to last. I love him and I want it to stay.
And then, with the feather-green darkness pressed against the windows, he puts his filthy fingers on my scrubbed hope face and says, “If I kiss you, it’s all over.” And then he does. And then it is.