(37/54) “The meeting was held in the office of the former speaker of parliament. He’d been executed four weeks earlier. It was an office I’d been to many times before. But everything beautiful had been removed: the paintings, the carpets, the furniture. In the center of the room was a single table, and at its head sat one of the leaders of the Revolutionary Council. It was the body ultimately responsible for deciding the fate of the regime’s enemies. My colleague groveled. He read a prepared statement. He thanked the man for his wisdom. He thanked him for allowing us to keep our salaries. Then when he finished his remarks, he motioned to me and said: ‘My colleague would like to say something.’ I was caught by surprise. I had nothing prepared. I could have just thanked the man. But when an injustice has been committed, I must speak. It’s part of my code. It’s something I hold as dear as my own spirit. Because if we don’t live our ideals—then they don’t exist. 𝘋𝘢𝘢𝘥. 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪. 𝘙𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪. Justice, Goodness, Truth. They depend on us. We are the ones who must make them real. They only exist when we are living them. Truth is not some abstract concept. Truth is something you say. Truth is something you do. No matter how great the fear, you must follow your code. You must stay true to your ideals. Because if you do not, that fear will stay with you. It will break you. Every day it will remind you: you weren’t who you thought you were. And I’m not ready to lose the rest of my life to a single moment. There was a burnt match lying on the floor next to my foot. I picked it up off the ground. I looked the man in the eye, and I told him: ‘Maybe you should be thanking us, for not allowing this injustice.’ Then I held the burnt match in front of my face. ‘Even if you’d asked,’ I told him. ‘I wouldn’t have given you this burnt match.’”

I was single for all of my 20s and half of my 30s, so Valentine’s Day will always make me think of my friends. (Just please don’t make me say ’Galentine’s Day.’) | Tag a bestie, duh. — Text reads: Be       st Fri     ends I send you a rambling voice note about how maybe I should try a different shade of brow tint this time / a little lighter / not so harsh / what do you think? / You know the passcode to my phone / and the name of that one guy I met on Bumble who cried about the movie Groundhog’s Day / and how much it hurt to leave Chicago / We’ve lost hours plotting paint colors / text replies / outfits / trips / what will happen on the next Insecure / what to do with our lives / “why are men?!” / who to trust / when to let go / You’re a soft place to land / a hard, wheezing laugh / the closest I’ll come to another sister / I used to think all of this in-between stuff was the intermission / the rest stops along the way / the amuse-bouche / the filler flowers / but lately I’ve come to realize that all of this small stuff is the stuff / this is it / the main event / the blue plate special / a million little drops of love that fill the whole cup