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by Jennifer Hartmann

Father didn’t love me; Mom didn’t love me enough. I guess that was why I loved too much. I had a lot of loveless holes to fill.

Life is like photography. You need the negatives to develop. —Ziad K. Abdelnour

But I knew well enough that a man only needed two capable hands and a sharp tongue to inflict harm. Sometimes less. A single look could do me in.

“Sounds like your heart already knows what it wants. Go with the blips.” “I wish it were that simple.” “It is. People always overcomplicate shit.” “That’s because life is complicated,”

“Life is living. If you’re not living exactly the way you want to live, then what’s the fucking point?”

Everything was hollow. Everything except for my heart. And having an abundant heart in a hollow world was an affliction I was helpless to overcome.

“Relationships are overrated. Love is nothing but a building block for collapse. A stepping stone for tripping and stumbling into a black hole you can’t climb out of it.”

“You’re too young to be so jaded.” “Am I?” Our gazes tangled and snared. “I wish that were true. But being jaded doesn’t come with age; it comes with hardship. And hardship can blow through like a stormfront, destroying everything in a blink. Five years old, fifteen, fifty. Doesn’t matter. Once you’re caught in the funnel, you never stop spinning out.”

Fear is a disease. It’s paralyzing. The only antidote is believing in your resilience. Every challenge is a chance to prove your strength.”

She watched the movie. I watched her.