Al reparto mi avevano detto che la speranza era la mia arma migliore, che mi avrebbe aiutata a superare tutto. E come una sciocca io ci ho creduto.

But the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes. Carson McCullers, 1917–1967.

Kindness when you’re wounded hurts more.

When Peter says to Wendy: “Come with me where you’ll never, never have to worry about grown-up things again,” I remember thinking, I’d like to go there. Please.

Simple tasks like filling the kettle require more effort, the exhaustion of being alive when someone you love isn’t.

Forgiving, that’s what she is, and lonely. A person can forgive a lot if they need the company.

Dovrei sentirmi fortunata, invece ho paura. Paura di scoprire chi sono e cosa potrei essere. E ho paura che anche loro lo scoprano.

More disturbing than hurt is love when it’s wrong.

A Native American tale where the Cherokee tells his grandson there’s a battle between two wolves in all of us. One is evil, the other good. The boy asks him, Which wolf wins? The Cherokee tells him, The one you feed.

A wave. Raw. Sadness washes over me as I'm dismissed. I don't move, I look at the screen. I want to run to you, crawl up inside you back into your womb. Rewrite a history where this time you'd love me normally. Shiny and new.