Tomorrow is another day. I've got plenty of things to worry about right now.

Everytime i have turned the page he re-enters my life as awkward as postscript

I walk out of the room, lurching under the weight of the lesson I've learned less than one hour into wifehood: How quickly the sweetest love turns rancid when it isn't returned. When the one you love loves someone else.

Fenugreek, Tuesday's spice, when the air is green like mosses after rain.

they say in the old tales that when a man and woman exchange looks the way we did, their spirits mingle. their gaze is a rope of gold binding each other. even if they never meet again, they carry a little of the other with them always. they can never forget, and they can never be wholly happy again

Monday is the day of silence, day of the whole white mung bean, which is sacred to the moon.

I saw something I hadn't realized before: words wasted energy. I would use my strength instead to nurture my belief that my life would unfurl uniquely.