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I understand that one plus one equals two, and two is more than one. My math skills far outreach addition. But more doesn’t always equal love.
Complex Math Problem: How do you solve the messes you can’t see? In other words—Is fitting in just covering up who you really are in hopes that people don’t notice?
I am no longer a whole number. I carry a decimal now. Each box in my room is just a reminder of my remainder. The problem is, I can’t figure out if I’m less than or more than I was before. I know I’m not the same.
Complex Math Problem: If Dad doesn’t matter, and I’m made up of him, do I matter?
Complex Math Problem: When one broken piece joins together with another broken piece, is it considered whole again, even if the edges don’t match up perfectly?
“The world is filled with desperate people seeking solace and acceptance, but it isn’t until they pass behind a protective curtain that they can finally admit who they are. And they can be free.”
trust is handing over a piece of your heart to someone and believing they’ll hold it as delicately as you do.
“Perfection is overrated,” Color says. “What’s the fun in that? It’s our holes that make us interesting.”
Beth told me last week that the air in a room can weigh up to one hundred pounds. Maybe that’s why I feel so heavy when I’m in my house. All of that emptiness weighs a lot.
“Truth—the universe is always speaking, but people are too consumed with their own voices to hear her.”
Complex Math Problem: One plus one equals two. What happens if you’re a two, but you don’t know the ones who made you?
“She told me to get used to it. She told me that being a parent meant being perpetually afraid that something might happen to the one thing you don’t want to lose. That every day you’ll worry and think about this possibility to the point of madness, until all that’s left is to throw your hands up and have faith that it’s all going to be OK.”
“Faith and bullshit wear the same clothes. It’s impossible to know which is which.”
The truth is hard to find. It likes to hide, shifting shape, and depending on who finds it first, they can remold it any way they want.
That’s the plight of women—no matter how miraculous we are, we still have to live in a world governed by men’s standards.
Is good enough really good enough?
Why is it so easy to want love for other people but not to accept it for ourselves?
Memories are just a mind manipulation to keep you tethered to something that’s no longer there. Free yourself and let it go.”
It’s amazing how long people will live with their lies, even when the truth will set them free.
