I thought, if I could go talk to this girl, give her a heads up, what would I tell her? I decided: I wouldn’t tell her shit.
I wrote letters to friends down the street I couldn’t visit, and family members across the ocean. I pictured my letters creating a big arching rainbow across the sea. It felt like a special kind of magic, to create something that would travel both time and space; things that felt otherwise out of reach.
That time the whole world was sent to our rooms.
As little girls we hear fairy tales of true love. As young women we go searching for it. As we age we do more than we ever thought we would to save it. No one teaches us that measurement of marriage is something as deep as it is wide or tall.
The bags are packed. Correction–the bags are more or less packed.
So this is how I found myself, bikini clad, poolside, crying mommy tears into an extra fancy, floral garnished umbrella drink on Mother’s Day.
This morning my son asked me how long it takes to read a whole book. Now, this is a difficult thing to measure unless your timing it, which is impossible what with all the interruptions of reading like having to go to work, feed your family, personal hygiene and HBO Documentaries that need watching.