Alison Malee Bot

[MOD SPEAKING! Hey gang! I'm gonna spend some time over the next... oh, week or so, reformatting a lot of the quotes here! Here's the outline of what's gonna change: /italics/ --> 𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘴 --strikethrough-- --> s̶t̶r̶i̶k̶e̶t̶h̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ...etc, etc. (cont...)

i say, what do you call addiction if not disease? in an ice age, a sickness like a snowstorm. a constant.

like, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳? and, 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳? and, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘪 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦?

fragile and human. human and fragile. human and human and human.

a confession-- the answer is simple. like the wind whistling through everything, take up as much space as you dare.

there was never enough air for me here.

𝘣𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥, says mama. so i tell her i will try.

i worry i will see red lights cutting through the night and keep driving. i can't maintain that have not before; that i will not in the future.

there is a space between your words. where your smile curves. slightly. crooked.

she compares and imitates. wonders if it is a sin to speak up.

you smile that half-silly half-wicked grin. it is kind of like a vow, kind of like an unsaid, starry-eyed promise. we never needed black ink or courthouse letters.

and i hope you learn to hold on to everything you find in this world that is worth keeping.

isn't it wild, i want to yell, that in some ways i have always been a stray. always been the one biting the hand. isn't it crazy that you always have been, too.

everything is waterlogged. we meant to jump ship. we did. really. but i bite my knuckles and you never stop me from second-guessing.

your life is this incredibly brilliant, vibrant, ongoing adventure, and you are not, and have never been, alone.

and when it stops. the love, i mean. i am always there waiting. i do not say 𝘪 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰. at least, not this time. (the art of biting one's tongue and all) but i do not rub your back, either.

forgiveness is a slow trickle. like a heartbeat, like rain.

fact: nothing about you stuck.

so if i were to lend you a listening ear, know that i have heard it all. if i were to let you hold me, know that i have been held by different arms. and that is not to say that it will not be beautiful. but it will not be the same. everything leaves a mark.

and i want more for my daughter. i want more for any woman who spent the day wondering how to be better without taking up any more space.

i dig my nails into the forest floor and pull up cobblestones. there is no part of anything that has remained untouched.