Maybe any love we ever have is an angel in whatever form.

Just like any woman,...we weave our stories out of our bodies. Some of us through our children, or our art; some do it just by living. It's all the same.

I wanted him to hold me, to take care of me. To make the pain dissolve away. I know that this was part of what had ruined everything but I wanted it once more anyway.

It's important to tell your story. It's important to listen.

It seems impossible that you can love one person so much, no matter what happens, no matter what they do.

Pain can give you sight or make you blind.

Our stories can set us free. When we set them free.