I feel a flash of grief so intense it almost makes me cry out: not for what I lost, but for the chances I missed.

I feel a flash of grief so intense it almost makes me cry out: not for what I lost, but for the chances I missed.

The old Lena is dead.

Don't worry about what you're writing or whether it's good or even whether it makes sense.

people themselves are full of tunnels: winding, dark spaces and caverns; impossible to know all the places inside of them. Impossible even to imagine.

like I am Alice in the Wonderland and have gotten too big for the room.

It was unfair that people could pretend to be one thing when they were really something else. That they would get you on their side and then do nothing but fail, and fail, and fail again. People should come with warnings, like cigarette packs: involvement would kill you over time.