Imagine you’re in bed in freshly washed sheets. You could be wrapped up, breathing slowly, content.
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When I feel myself spiralling, I try to notice the small things around me, and pay close attention to them; the exact shade of blue in the sky, the feel of the chair beneath me, the motion of the traffic passing by.
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I didn’t come here for love, so if I choose to stay here, it has to be for more than love itself.
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The spinster is simply an older version of a bachelorette, an unmarried woman past a certain age who should no longer hold out hope for romance
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‘Poor’—the word carries a certain weight, a certain grit, a certain grime, a certain image.
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