I’m not very good at being alone lately, but then I’m even worse with people. It’s people that seem to make it impossible to live with myself. My hours alone are spent wondering what I said, why I said it, why I shouldn’t have said it, what they said, what they meant, what they think of me, what I should say and how I should behave next time to make it better
Carrie Fisher, The Princess Diarist according to Carrie’s tweet
America laughs from deep behind the hollow of her throat, this bright, liquid sound spilling out like she’s somehow found a way to bottle starlight, and Kate feels something unspool inside of her.
“You fucking idiot,” America says, soft and fond in a way that Kate’s never heard before, and Kate realizes that this is what America must be like, stripped bare of all the thorns she wears for protection against the outside world.
I love things being between. I love nothing being certain. It might be why I love water so much; how it’s never constant, always flowing. And why my favorite color is blue with other blues in it. It might be singing, dancing, and acting, and why I love theatre that integrates all three. I love stars because we don’t know much about them, and I love the ocean for the same reason. I love half finished drawings, because sometimes the potential is more beautiful than the outcome, and that’s kind of how I see myself.