My Radar, After All These Years Of

There Is A Blessing In Losing The One We Love. It's The Blessing Of Self-transformation. You Don't Have To Who You Were Anymore. You've Struggled. And Now You Can Change. It Doesn't Mean That Bits Of That Person Won't Cling To You, They Will Throughout Your Life, But They Are Now Subsumed Into Something Greater. That Person Has Given You, In Fact, The Most Important Blessing, Which Is They Gave You The Blessing Of Transforming Your Soul Into Something Better, Something More Beautiful.

I Still Believe That You Truly Find Yourself Not In Travel, But In Other Human Souls.

I Envied Women With Signature Hair-dos, Signature Perfumes, Signature Sign-offs. Novelists Who Tell Vogue Magazine: “i Can’t Live Without My Smythson Notebook, Pomegranate Noir Cologne By Jo Malone And Frette Sheets”. In The Grip Of Madness, Materialism Begins To Look Like An Admirable Belief System.

Yes, I Have Patterns Of Love Addiction. But I'm A Woman. Of Course I Do.

He Was Addicted To Me And Now He Has Gone Cold Turkey. He Used To Send Me Fifty Texts A Day. And Now He Is Ignoring Me. It's Like I Was Once His Barack Obama. And Now I Am John Mccain, Conceding Defeat Like A Sad-face Sock Puppet, Knowing I Have Sold The Best Of Myself. He, My Electorate, Not Only Does Not Want Me, He Actively Feels Pity.