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She didn’t know people could stop loving you. She’d thought friendship was permanent, like matter.
depression is grief not in proportion with an individual’s circumstances.
“Dizzy, get off the floor. It’s filthy. What are you doing?” She’d seen a movie where the nuns did this. “I’m going to be a nun. I’m devoting my life to God. This is me prostrate before Him.” “We’re Jewish!”
go to The Silent World.” “What’s that?” “Where sad women go when they’re tired of words and thoughts and the taste in their mouths and when they look in the mirror the person looking back won’t even meet their eyes.”
There’s an invisible artery joining the hearts of mothers and daughters through which pain is transferred from one generation to the next.
She didn’t know what people were supposed to do with the leftover love that no one wanted anymore.
This is when I start finding the really good words like Desiderium, n. an ardent desire for something lost.
In the time of forever, a woman couldn’t get out of a burning house. She got used to a bed that was on fire. She learned to sleep with her back to the flames.
