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I take the same road over and over, always forgetting it’s the wrong one, and even when it looks like I have things under control, something tells me maybe I don’t.
The heart wants what it wants. It’s that simple and that complicated.
Women always speak, think, and act from the memory of our pain.
Life’s a bitch. That’s why you gotta rattle her cage, even if she’s foaming at the mouth.
Memories pop up when you’re not looking for them, I guess. Like confetti snakes springing out of a can when you least expect it.
How can you prove misogyny in court if the murderer says he loved her? Love is misogynist.
Being a woman means living in a state of emergency.
No one is ever ready for the death of someone they love. But this wasn’t death. It was theft. You were stolen, violently ripped from my side.
