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The best prisons are the ones created in our own minds.
More than anything, Chelsey wishes there was a way to know when you were experiencing the happiest moments of your life.
She was the kind of person girls liked and boys loved.
“Sometimes there is no method to the madness.” It often seems that way. But Chelsey knows that violent men are not inevitable. They are not a matter of course. Of nature. Of being born. Violent men are forged. They are made. All of this… all of it is preventable.
But often, Chelsey wondered if her father, if people in general, should spend less time protecting daughters and more time worrying about sons. The dangerous things boys do. How they might be raised differently.
She remembers them as little girls, nights spent laughing, whispering secrets, sleeping in the curves of each other’s hollow spaces. They had not been two halves of a whole but extensions of each other.
Why did no one ever tell Lydia that the most dangerous thing in the world isn’t natural disasters or wars or weapons? It is unremarkable men with beautiful smiles and even bigger promises.
She wonders how it is possible to still love someone who has done such horrible things.
She would ask the media, the world: When will it be enough? How society accepts women dying at the hands of men. Chelsey mourns girlhood.
