Love stories always seem to be a spark.

A woman who loves books has a dreamer's soul, with each story she has read woven into her own.

I love art, my mother is a painter, I majored in art history at Wellesley, and as I was having my second child I was thinking, what am I going to do, I have to do something to keep myself sane, and I began to ask myself, what are the most horrific circumstances under which art can be created?

Love stories always seem to be a spark.

A woman's pelvis is like an hourglass with the capacity to tell time. It both creates and shelters life. When the mother's diet is insufficient, nutrients are pulled from her own teeth and bone. Women are built to be selfless.

If those we love visit us when we dream, those who torment us almost always visit us when we're still awake.

But in order to survive in this foreign world, I had to teach myself that love was very much like a painting. The negative space between people was just as important as the positive space we occupy. The air between our resting bodies, and the breath in our conversations, were all like the white of the canvas, and the rest our relationship- the laughter and the memories- were the brushstroke applied over time.