I ready my pen / and I have nothing to say / that is fear

God, my heart is broken and I don't know how to love you anymore as I should, and as a result I'm not able to love your creation as fully as I should.

I know how to fly to all corners of the internet with my woes, and still feel reluctant to confide in the Compassionate, because of fears that my choices are less than worthy of his attention, and worries that an inner fundamentalist will prescribe a lazy remedy when I doubt my own reasoning at times of failure.

there needs to be a balance between the kind of dating that mangles up one's heart and Islamic marriage, where anonymity and duty supersedes the intimacy of being known.

I want to crawl into bed and cry and cry, out of loss, because heartbreak, and out of joy, because pain means the heart is not dead like it once was.

the ladies of the lake are so, so healing.

narcissists are master baiters.