We love each other, that’s true whatever it means, but we aren’t good at it; for some it’s a talent, for others only an addiction. - Margaret Atwood

Her glass wings are gone.

Maybe none of this is about control. Maybe it really isn't about who can own whom, who can do what to whom and get away with it, even as far as death. Maybe it isn't about who can sit and who has to kneel or stand or lie down, legs spread open. Maybe it's about who can do what to whom and be forgiven for it. Never tell me it amounts to the same thing.

I thought my heart was pure. We do like to have such good opinions of our own motives when we're about to do something harmful, to someone else.