" Weights He buys me a ring with, you are the only thing I am living for, engraved along the edge and when I slip it on that expectation burns me. I feel it branding my skin. I can’t sleep for the fire of those words against my finger. My hand gets so heavy I can’t lift it to his face and months go by as the weight slides up my arm and into my shoulder. By Christmas I am bent double and gasping. By Easter I can’t get off the floor. It’s too much, I try to whisper, too much to carry this. You can’t build a life on another human being. We’re foundations of sand. We’re Atlas buckling under the sky. "

― Elisabeth Hewer , Wishing for Birds