People write to me all the time, and I write back.

May and I are sisters. We'll always fight, but we'll always make up as well. That's what sisters do: we argue, we point out each other's frailties, mistakes, and bad judgment, we flash the insecurities we've had since childhood, and then we come back together. Until the next time.

In that moment I understood that the cruelest words in the universe are if only.

We're told that men are strong & brave, but I think women know how to endure, accept defeat & bear physical & mental agony much better than men.

What stays with me most is a general sense of loss, unease, and longing for the past that cannot be relieved.

All these types of love come out of duty, respect, and gratitude. Most of them, as the women in my county know, are sources of sadness, rupture, and brutality.

When you don’t have much, having less isn’t so bad.