But what does that mean?

I have discovered that we do not hold our sexuality but our sexuality holds us.

Sometimes we are so consumed by the flame, burning so painfully in its heat, that we can’t see the utter gorgeousness of the fire.

It’s like picking up a piece of writing from years ago. You feel the tiniest stab of recollection when you discover it, but mostly you are in awe of how it was you who wrote down these words and felt something so creative in that moment.

The sky will soon lighten as it always does, and there is no more hopeful moment that that: when time is tomorrow but still carries a strain of today, when we’re wiser and reborn all at once.

I often think that being a woman in this world must feel like waking up every day to find that someone deleted what you wrote the day before.

Courage is an imaginary construct that people have made to hide their inferiority.

If you had the capacity to shove love into a princess or fury into a winged monster, you had the capacity to generate passion or mirth or humility or patience in yourself. It wasn’t just pen to paper or fingers on a keyboard. It was through your own generosity of imagination that you made yourself good.

Dough is like an Indian mother’s stress ball. Squeeze, roll.

I live in a kingdom of one.