“What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering?”
𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, I told myself. 𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘍𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.
“What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering?”
“So if you love me, love me everywhere,”
— H.D., from Collected Poems 1912-1944; “Sigil”
“Beautiful, you said. You said I was beautiful, and when you said it, I was.”
— Sandra Cisneros, from Woman at Hollering Creek: Stories; “Never Marry a Mexican,”