The material and immaterial both matter when it comes to the personality, the essence of a human being.
But it’s weird, you know? Living alone, existing primarily alone. I don’t dislike it, but it’s allowed for a good amount of me time, and I’m discovering a few things about myself.
I was a young female who wrote magical realism, and he was expecting pink powdery puffs of sentences, of lightness, of beauty.
It’s oftentimes painful for me to open up to people I know, which is strange and doesn’t make sense on the outside, but it kind of actually does if you really think about it. Sometimes we need the removal or absence of a relationship in order to really talk.
I’ve noticed I remember more clearly the details of a book, after I’ve listened to it.
Healing isn’t about Band-Aids, because however tempting, they’re always, always temporary. Let yourself be held, if you have a holder. And if you don’t, that’s okay too, because you love yourself; you must always remember to love yourself.
I saw the world clearly, but it was older, more remote, and there was an unshakeable sadness that pervaded my thoughts.
But I think women still have it in their heads that marrying will solidify their lives into something stable and manageable and possibly easier because they know where they’re going to be for the next few years.
And being faced with a rejection doesn’t mean that we’re failed human beings, it means that we are human beings and imperfect and that most rejections (especially in terms of creativity) are subjective things that spurn any type of real analysis.
Know that you’re an inimitable person, unable to be defined by age or race or gender, but be proud of your gender, just the same.