He was in my hair, my eyes, my fingers, my heart. I day-dreamed about what he was doing, thinking, seeing, smelling, feeling. I could not eat for thoughts of him.
How can we not create a fantasy in our minds when the reality is so hard?
Parents die, daughters grow up and marry out, but sisters are for life.
A brave heart? It feels like a swollen and aching thing in my chest.
And one of the interesting things about bound feet is that they never age.
I wonder if there was anything I would have done differently. I hope I would have done everything differently, except I know everything would have turned out the same. That's the meaning of fate.