Anything that happens, happens.
Anything that, in happening, causes something else to happen, causes something else to happen.
Anything that, in happening, happens again, happens again.
It doesn’t necessarily happen in chronological order, though.
Men still have trouble recognizing that a woman can be complex, can have ambition, good looks, sexuality, erudition, and common sense. A woman can have all those facets, and yet men, in literature and in drama, seem to need to simplify women, to polarize us as either the whore or the angel.
There was only happiness and loving each other and then hunger and replenishing and starting over.
Having one of those moments when you realize something vastly important about yourself, when, unconsciously you probably had an inkling about the subject and reason.
I spend the majority of my life emasculating most men around me; or at least those who pose some sort of threat or power over me. So I break them down, bit by bit, until they bend to my will. I pride respect over being loved. Always have to be right; always have the last word; always be the most sarcastic; etc, etc…
It’s exhausting, and I now have a better idea of how badly I treat people.
Too abrasive for my own good.