... We're just different."
"Yeah," I say. "I'm mute and you have verbal diarrhea.

What she doesn’t know is that I don’t want to feel better. I don’t want to go on with my life as if nothing happened. Something did happen. Something big."

Samatha from WHO I KISSED

People's personalities, like buildings, have various facades, some pleasant to view, some not.

We talk of strong personalities, and they are strong, until the not-every-day when we see them as we might see one woman alone in a desert, and know that all the strength we thought we knew was only courage, only her lone song echoing among the stones; and then at last when we have understood this and made up our minds to hear the song and admire its courage and its sweetness, we wait for the next note and it does not come. The last word, with its pure tone, echoes and fades and is gone, and we realize—only then—that we do not know what it was, that we have been too intent on the melody to hear even one word. We go then to find the singer, thinking she will be standing where we last saw her. There are only bones and sand and a few faded rags.

Both within the family and without, our sisters hold up our mirrors: our images of who we are and of who we can dare to be.

Alpacas are very endearing, and they all have very different personalities.