“Why are women… so much more interesting to men than men are to women?”

Virginia Woolf

There is nothing quite so breathtaking and terrible and powerful as a woman in anguish. I can see this reckoning, but I am not myself in anguish. I am in nothing, entirely. Perhaps I am in boredom, or in waiting. There is not much that arises in me the power that a woman may contain in her breast. To move the sky and rehome the seas is truly a woman’s power. Observable, yes, but obtainable? If you may not feel the lightning jar within you, dear reader, that is alright – I lack its pull, as well.

With such a power comes the burden of its emotional weight, the entirely overwhelming and constant tug downwards into your own being that, if it is to succeed, would have you never speak again. You cannot always fight. Sometimes, you shall be tasked with weighing the cost of fury against the loss of sanity. When your rationale is to win, you may be in boredom or in waiting like I.

Remember that, even when hidden, you possess the jar. You are merely saving it for a day when you can unleash it in all of its monstrous glory.

For now,

G.D.