When I was little, I felt wrong. Like my body wasn't my own. I couldn't translate the real me. I was trapped.
I think... I'm finally getting there.
Who is to say what love is? Who is to say what floods our hearts, blazes in our eyes?
For not even I, sir, knows what my self thirsts. I think I know, tracked it down, pinpointed it. But then it slips away yet again. Like ghosts, my desires melt away. I fear I may never know.
"After I have died, God will go on remembering me, and to be remembered by God, to have my consciousness sustained by the supreme consciousness, is not that, perhaps, to be?"
Miguel de Unamuno
"One phrase I can't stand is when people refer to their partners as their other half. I hate the idea that you are not whole. As women, we're all responsible for our own happiness"
Ireland last summer. My beautiful cousins.
I categorically failed my RE exam today. A year of work down the drain.