The Same Wound
We are both lonely in the exact same way. We just narrate it differently. Same wound. Different scar. She burned every net that was cast. I've been building one instead.
Frances S Wren
What my body knew
The love for him arrived complete. The love for me is still a work in progress. I don't think that makes me a bad mother. I think it makes me a very recognizable one.
The Gap
We built an economy that requires two incomes to survive, then expressed shock that nobody's home with the children. That's not a metaphor. That's Tuesday.