"What if it was courage, not jealousy? What if it was courage, not jealousy?"
"I hate being a girl!"
She raved while thrashing alligators in the bog. Saving John Travolta, the man she loved, who had many many lovers.
He was King Solomon. He spoke the poetry of Scripture. He was also stupid in his wisdom, and the world was made in such a way that she would never be free to love nobly. Always and forever she would be misunderstood; a woman, therefore motivated by the pettiest of emotions.
She also doubted herself. Is the quality of love revealed in the object of its affection? If so, what of God? If so, she was a sorry creature indeed.
Sometimes I am stunned by my dreams.
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