"Almost every woman I have ever met has a secret belief that she is just on the edge of madness, that there is some deep, crazy part within her, that she must be on guard constantly against losing control - of her temper, of her appetite, of her sexuality, of her feelings, of her ambition, of her secret fantasies, of her mind.”

"I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief"

Grief is the only proof that I love and I love well. Love and grief are actually intertwined with each other and as "Akif Kichloo" once wrote, "the opposite of grief is not laughter or happiness or joy. It is love. It is love. It is love."

I love the phrase lacing hands together. Intertwining yourselves with each other, knitting your nerves and veins, becoming one. Sewing your fingers, holding on to your love, claiming them as yours as you become theirs.

the world doesn’t have enough trap doors or goblins in my opinion. Where’s my Labyrinth fairytale?

when a swan hisses at someone it’s “protecting its young” but when i do it it’s “weird” and “i should seek psychiatric help”

I am going on a perilous journey (a bus ride) to a faraway magical land (the next town over) to complete a daring quest (book shopping)