I think once you sign on to be a mother, that's the only shift they offer.
That's the paradox of loss: How can something that's gone weigh us down so much?
Even though it hurt, there are kinds of pain you couldn't speak out loud.
An item that looks perfectly normal on the surface might only be disguised.
Shooting stars are not stars at all. They re just rocks that enter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. What we wish on when we see one is only a trail of debris.
In my previous life I was a civil attorney. At one point I truly believed that was what I wanted to be- but that was before I'd been handed a fistful of crushed violets from a toddler. Before I understood that the smile of a child is a tattoo: indelible art.