Jul 28
105941509807280784
Later . . . I’m sort of hollow inside now, from longing, but it’s okay. There’s so much space now, in a place that was clenched tight as a fist before . . . if it echoes a little, I don’t mind. The echoes are what tell me how large I am, how much more I can contain than I’d remembered . . . including a small, not too obtrusive hope, that things will work out.
Shira McClain
