No Reason To Be Angry. Anger Just

It's Fine," I Repeated. And Whatever. It Was Fine. It Had To Be.

In The Ensuing Silence, I Have Time To Contemplate The Word Cute— How Dismissive It Is, How It’s The Equivalent Of Calling Someone Little, How It Makes A Person Into A Baby, How The Word Is A Neon Sign Burning Through The Dark Reading, “feel Bad About Yourself.

You Can't Just Make Me Different And Then Leave. You Can't. You Can't Change Me And Make My Whole Life Centered Around You, Then Leave.

Everything That Comes Together Falls Apart.

The Important Thing Is Not Whatever Nonsense The Voices Are Saying, But What The Voices Are Feeling.