This is very hard to have to write. But I do feel like I have to. Even though it’s making me physically ill to do so. Even though you already know how the story ends.
Freedom drives my life, but maybe I need to transcend it.
Somebody handed me a crying baby. There wasn't really a sense that I was a stranger.
Bonding over salads and stories, a relationship changes forever.
I act like a nervous lunatic when I encounter people who upset me in the past. Maybe I should calm down and see them as fodder for an adventure.
There was something different about us, those whose parents came to halachic Judaism later in life -- and I wondered if it was just me who noticed it.
Why would someone do something so destructive to another, with seemingly no benefit whatsoever to herself?
My father would never come back. I never got to say goodbye. Was it all my fault?
Elizabeth has a lot of things on her mind. Lots of little, tiny, lovely things.
