“My love translated sounds like a dead language.”

“My love translated sounds like a dead language.”

“in your dream, you are jealous of tragedies.and the truth is, we all want our own tragedy, because life is pale without it.we want the teeth, the screaming.the survivalthat comes with it.”

“listen girl,’ Medea says, ‘you arenot the first person in the world tosuffer from a broken heart.but i will treat you like you are.listen girl. he is not calling out your name.your name to him is nothing.it might have been before.once, your name might have beenthe only word he knew when hewas blind sad or bursting with sun.those days are over.your name can only exist in your own mouth now.say it over and over. say it until it doesn’t soundlike a name, but just a sound. the promises he made you are just sounds now too. remember that.your hands are what will hold you together now.and you want to be mad? be mad.here is a plate. throw it through his window,listen to the crack. the shatter. laugh into the night.call yourself the sun. see, you will rise.and are you less of a woman for this? nowhat is woman?woman is this–enduring.listen girl, you will get over this– you will.but what fool said you had to do it silently?here is a tip – scream”

“you will rise.and are you less of a woman for this? nowhat is woman?woman is this—enduring.listen girl, you will survive this–you will.but what fool said you had to do it silently?here is a tip—scream”