To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless,—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from the perturbations of love is Hell.

Love came,
and became like blood in my body.
It rushed through my veins and
encircled my heart.
Everywhere I looked,
I saw one thing.
Love’s name written
on my limbs,
on my left palm,
on my forehead,
on the back of my neck,
on my right big toe…
Oh, my friend,
all that you see of me
is just a shell,
and the rest belongs to love.


An adventure in Rockport: Fresh Blueberry, Blackberry and Raspberry Pie at Cape Ann Farmer’s Market [An adventure in Rockport] [My instagram]

You must see this from my perspective to truly appreciate how incredible this was. Imagine: an 18 year old girl from a country where berries are an incredible luxury - 10 times the price of local, seasonal fruit - such that no one would ever dare do anything but enjoy the berries in their purest, simplest form. Yet since having read Archie Comics from a young age, I’ve always harbored a secret desire for Jughead’s berry pies that dripped with sweet, stewed juiciness between a crunchy pastry crust. When I took a (huge) bite of the wild berry pie, I had a strong sensation of being transported to a world of comic panels and cartoon speech bubbles. Jughead had never been exaggerating, and it was everything I’d dreamed about as a child.