It was a feeling like nostalgia, but for something I’d never done. Something I’d never had.

There are more interesting things to be done with words.

I tried to summon the courage I imagined I’d have if this was a place I belonged.

I would say I considered getting stitches, but it’d be a lie. I’d let my arm fall off before setting foot inside a fucking hospital.

Walls too high to ever turn into bridges.

as if she had access to some well of wisdom that I’d never thought to drop a bucket into.

let people know that there are questions being asked, and they’ll line up to give you their version of answers.

If you need to hurry, her oft-repeated saying went, you’re already too late.

The thing about me is, I let things go. I let people go. I don’t know how to hang on to them—I try, but I hold too tight or not tight enough or something in between and they go. They always go.