I’ve been thinking about how telling anyone my plans makes them less shiny and special and mine. I have ideas about my life that feel secret and breakable and I don’t know how to take care of them properly. It’s not that I want secrets, in fact I think I crave the telling of things. I want to give…

“My grandmother died this past January, and I did not attend her funeral.

I live in Boston now and she lived in Hisarya, Bulgaria, and I could not afford the plane ticket. This is the equation every emigrant tries to solve: distance times the cost of travel equals helplessness equals heartache equals guilt.

I carried my grief like a bruise on a part of my body hidden from others. I told my husband about my grandmother’s passing but did not want to discuss it, and I didn’t tell any of my friends except one, weeks after the fact, in a text message. I could not bring myself to talk about losing my last living grandparent, because talking about her would mean talking about the literal and figurative ocean between where I come from and where I am now.”
“Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”
— Rumi
“I’m not sad, but the boys who are looking for sad girls always find me. I’m not a girl anymore and I’m not sad anymore. You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say ‘Wow, isn’t he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ You think I’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I’ll swallow you whole.”
— Warsan Shire
“I’ve got a
lot of good

ideas but not

one that

will get me

— Eileen Myles
“I always have a sense of trembling, but so does a compass, after all.”
— Jerzy Kosiński

Love, Maybe

in the middle
of our bloodiest battles
you lay down your arms
like flowering mines

to conquer me home.

Audre Lorde

“You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop.”