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The secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don’t deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They don’t surprise you with the unforeseen. They are as familiar as the house you live in. Or the smell of your lover’s skin. You  know how they end, yet you listen as though you don’t. In the way that although you know that one day you will die, you live as though you won’t. In the Great Stories you know who lives, who dies, who finds love, who doesn’t. And yet you want to know again.
That is their mystery and their magic.
—  Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

Except for the heart-shaped hole where the hope runs out

Sometimes self care isn’t appointments, medication and therapy sessions.
Sometimes it is.
Sometimes self care is getting up just to eat and go back to bed.
Sometimes it is blowing everything off and spending the day with someone you love.
Sometimes in involves a really big cry.
And sometimes it involves doing nothing at all.