I am trapped in glass and I want to break out and breath deep but I´m too afraid that it will hurt.

Because I feel no anger toward my mother. Only loss, and loss is a feeling you can’t fight your way out of as easily.

And it is strange that absence can feel like presence.

I wonder if I will ever have the strength to hold onto something. Or if I will always be someone who destroys.

It's been so long since I've let myself feel anger that I don't just feel it. It covers my mouth and I swallow it down, the taste sharp and metal as though I'm gnawing through foilware.

Everyone has something of beauty about them. But loving let's you look, and look, and look again. You notice the back of a hand, the turn of a head, the way of a walk. When you first love, you look blind and you see it all as the glorious, beloved whole, or a beautiful sum of beautiful parts. But when you see the one you love as pieces, as why's, you can love those parts too, and it's a love at once more complicated and more complete.

It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures.