I’m not a woman you bring home to Mother, pick out china patterns with, or Mary forefend, breed. I’ve seen a chunk of the universe, true, but there’s still so much more to see. I doubt I’ll ever cure this wanderlust, and I’m content with dedicating my life to failing to sate it... He’s never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.

Now I know there are ways to belong to someone that don’t take anything away. A relationship shouldn’t impose limits—and if it does, then it’s wrong. A lover should help you exceed your potential, not clip your wings.

It's only a sure defeat when you stop trying.

But it was like a dance across a field strewn with razors, and I bled with every step I took.

Is that love? It seems like a pale word, too easily tossed about by people who don’t know the meaning of it, who twist it for their own ends. I’m afraid of it now, right up there with clowns, close spaces, and open flames.

Brown bird welcomes white wave. Wander no more, dear traveler.

She carries chaos like an overcoat.