(whose words these are)

1. Let’s say a woman comes home after a weekend away to discover an unfamiliar pastel-colored toothbrush sitting expectantly by the sink. No questions are necessary. The woman does not unpack.

This is not personal enough, is it? Not quite enough of the truth, but enough of it to not be a lie.

2. Let’s say there is the uncomfortable realization that your lungs have grown larger than any of your other organs and are now selfishly taking up far too much space in your chest. Breathing is now the only thing your body wants to do.

3. You say you want nothing on your birthday but that is false. You want what everyone else wants. You go out to dinner and it’s nice enough, but then you’re sitting on a couch next to the person you love and they’re someplace else again and they won’t even touch you, as if they’ve forgotten how, and it’s not that you wanted it all wrapped up in pretty ribbons, but because it seemed like today was the sort of day to feel something important from somebody else.