F*ck Love

by Tarryn Fisher

when disloyal, seed-sowing scum buckets slept with other girls, why did women look inward to find fault in themselves?

There was room in my heart for forgiveness; there wasn’t room in my life for someone who constantly needed it.

“Is that the book where that lady turns into a statue after looking back at a burning city after God told her not to?” I say. “And where three defiant men are thrown into a furnace and don’t burn. Oh, and isn’t there a gal who feeds and puts to sleep the general of an enemy’s army, and then uses a mallet to drive a tent peg into his brain?”

“You would love this book,” I say, shoving The Goblet of Fire at her. “It’s PG-rated compared to the Bible.”

I’m not so sure the Sorting Hat would put me in Ravenclaw anymore. I am Slytherin.

I’m wearing a slutty dress, and my hair is a mess, and people are looking at me. But they can’t see my heart. If they could see my heart, they’d understand why my mascara is smudged.

In another life, it would have been a beautiful something.” That hurts. God, does it. I’ve seen that life. He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. In his mind, I’m just some possibility that could have been, but in my mind, he’s the only possibility.

I ignited something in your heart, and then left you to burn on your own.

I know you; I walked with you once upon a dream…

Don’t make someone burn, and then try to douse the flames with the things you should have done. Those regrets are gasoline not water.

“Art is the blood that comes from a wound. You can’t let it scab; let it keep bleeding. Let it bleed until you have enough blood to paint with.”

“Let people feel the weight of who you really are, and let them fucking deal with it.”

Take off your shoes and stop running. Live barefoot and fucking fight.