What if I am terribly young and uninteresting in comparison? What if I become a woman who ages into an uneventful existence, minding my business in all the wrong places and not minding it near enough in the essentials? “You don’t have to—” Pierce began. “Yes! Of course,” I said. “I was only envisioning myself in twenty depressing years, with a ring of keys about my waist and sagging jowls.” A sharp look born of confusion. “Why?” “Because I’m not a sculptor.” A sigh.
This mental spiral is so real
