Meghan Seawell

Busy is a lie. People always make time for what’s important to them.

I want a boy who creates. I want a boy who loves dogs. I want a boy who’s always learning, whose mind is constantly expanding, who becomes new faster than I can learn him.

Could this man possibly be so turned around that he’s ashamed to notice the physical assets of a woman he’s dating? Does he really think feminism calls for complete denial that we even inhabit bodies at all?

He had long hair, loved his mama, and smiled in a way that said, “I understand and appreciate you, darling girl.”

Whether power begets sex or sex begets power, it’s hard to say, but there seems to be a clear positive correlation between the two.

I think you deserve all the nice and good things in the world. And I want someone who thinks the same about me.

If the silencers had it their way, our thoughts and opinions would be diluted to the point where they’re barely recognizable anymore.

We skinny-dipped in a secluded lake the middle of a hot, summer day, and with his skin pressed against mine in the bright, burning sun, his eyes bore the kind of hunger that sends a girl flying.

Accepting meant forgiveness. It meant making the conscious choice to swallow anger and to stay calm and kind.

I’ll see your ignorance as acceptance, and I’ll begin to grow comfortable. I’ll share more stories and feelings and thoughts, and I’ll gradually reveal the tumult beneath my breezy veneer.

At first, this setup will feel strange. You’ll be sitting across from someone you adore, who would likely rather be naked with you than slurping pho from a plastic bowl, and you’ll have to force yourself to keep your feelings in check.

Before that, perhaps, you bought your first bra. Your mother took you to the store and stared at your chest before selecting something white and awkward and strange. She called it a training bra.