We turned us into wintergirls, and when she tried to leave, I pulled her back into the snow because I was afraid to be alone.

Apologies mean nothing if you don't mean it.

I breathe in slowly. Food is life. I exhale, take another breath. Food is life.

I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds. Failed friendship. Failed sisterhood and daughterhood. Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls. Good thing I'm stable.

The stuffing/puking/stuffing/puking/stuffing/puking didn't make her skinny, it made her cry.

Momma said that ghosts couldn't move over water. That's why Africans got trapped in the Americas.. They kept moving us over the water, stealing us away from our ghosts and ancestors, who cried salty rivers into the sand. That's where Momma was now, wailing at the water's edge, while her girls were pulled out of sight under white sails that cracked in the wind.

Death is funny, when you think about it. Everybody does it, but nobody knows how, exactly how.