I didn’t know yet how wanting to die could be a bloodsong in your body that lives with you your whole life. I didn’t know then how deeply my mother’s song had swum into my sister and into me. I didn’t know that something like wanting to die could take form in one daughter as the ability to quietly surrender, and in the other as the ability to drive into death head-on. I didn’t know we were our mother’s daughters after all. . Lidia Yuknavitch
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  1. I just want my stories to be mine.
  2. I kiss her. I kiss her and kiss her. I try not to bite her lip. She tastes like vodkahoney.
  3. Leslie Marmon Silko whispers the story is long. No, longer. Longer than that even. Longer than anything. <span style="margin:15px; display:block"></span>With Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath drink at the bar. Laugh the dark laughter in the dark light. Sing a dark drunken song of men. <span...
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  5. Sometimes a mind is just born late, coming through waves on a slower journey. You were never, in the end, alone. Isn’t it a blessing, what becomes from inside the alone.
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