Some women love to wait for life, for a ring in the June light, for a touch of the sun to heal them, for another woman’s voice to make them whole, to untie their hands, put words in their mouths, form to their passages, sound to their screams, for some other sleeper to remember their future, their past.
Some women wait for themselves around the next corner and call the empty spot peace, but the opposite of living is only not living, and the stars do not care.
Some women wait for something to change, and nothing does change, so they change themselves.
from Stations (1986) by Audre Lorde (1934-1992)
Image: My Twilight Dream