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Every woman I know has spent the majority of her adult life mastering the art of trusting her instincts.
In its simplest form, home for us has always been each other.
But certainty is a desire of the brain, not the heart. The only certainty we get in this life is death and the grief that comes with it. Everything else is ours to make, to hold in our hands and shape with our palms. To nurture or let die.”
Every hour spent together, every day spent apart. Every kiss we've shared and tear we've shed. Because all of it, every painful, beautiful moment, got us here.
