I feel like there are women who are genuinely born to be mothers, and women who are born to be aunties, and women who really probably not should be allowed near children. The tragedy that happens is when any one of those women ends up in the wrong category.
When I get logical, and I don't trust my instincts - that's when I get in trouble.
To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.

