I’m no good at masturbating. For me, sex has always been about two, of the hunt or being hunted, of being desired, of falling headfirst into the abyss of the other.

I made everything beautiful
And it didn’t make a difference
You still cried in the morning

I have stopped dressing to be seen; I dress for walking. I cropped my hair and allowed it to go salt and pepper. With the mask and the hair and the tennis shoes, I am unrecognizable, sometimes even to myself.

“Sometimes, belonging to a place means longing to leave it. Sometimes it means knowing you can always go back.”

On nights that I can't sleep, I feel sorry for my eggs. I worry that they're suffering in their own snow country of liquid nitrogen. I know such concerns are beyond ridiculous. After all, my eggs are not tiny, microscopic people. They aren't even embryos.

“She held it high for all to see, and it looked like a record of damage, all missed circles and broken lines.”