This Place of Wonder

by Barbara O'Neal

the roots of my talent for obsessive love affairs, for obsessive thinking, ruminating, unhappiness. I’ve got enough feelings to sort out without facing my own teenage angst.

someone once commented it was because she’d never examined her ghosts and traumas, but I call bullshit. Only people without the kind of wounds she and I carried think you need to live it all over again. Not everything can be forgiven. Not everything can be healed.