Darkness carries us forward, light makes space. We watch the world from the edge, waiting to be loved after death. In each breath, the resistance fights for sustenance.
The power of her poetry forces the reader to turn inwards and question their own biases and views of what it truly means for a woman, flawed and imperfect, to exist in a male-dominated society.
Our apartment feels like a museum, not for lack of life lived –as marks on the wall from shoes tossed off after nights out where we carry each other would indicate– but because it has been curated in her image.
Bea was running late. She hoped it came off like a cute girl-next-door personality trait, like she’d show up all frazzled, tripping over her words, a little out of breath, her cheeks flushed and her smile wider than ever, like, I’m here, I rushed all the way here just for you.
I hadn’t known the story of how Anna’s life had played out; how she had ended up working in the arts and how she had ended up becoming the Anna that I knew. I always saw her as having things figured out.