I think sometimes that my heart is something I carry around on pieces of paper instead of in my body and soul.
Scraps I’ve found today:
“I feel like a vase that’s been shattered on the floor – not one of those made out of thick, cut glass, but something finer and more delicate that splinters into shards so thin that you pick them up with your bare feet for days afterward.”
“I just want to skip the part where it’s work – where it’s high heels and strapless bras. (OK, but I’m a little … high maintenance. That part is my life.) I want sweat pants and doing nothing and Sunday afternoons.
But I bet when I get there, I’ll find myself nostalgic for flirtation and first dates.
Or … for someone with whom I can have both.”
–written … sometime in November