There is a woman in the attic of my mind who I like to think of as someone other than “me”. She’s an angry thing; a harpy, really; all fluttering wings and sharp teeth and vicious smiles and “I told you so’s”. She scrabbles taloned feet on the hardwood floors and snarls whenever I think about closeness and care and the love of a good man. Someone sent me a letter that spoke to these things and she insisted upon speaking to them. It’s a first, really. Normally she just whispers reminders of old stories and hurts to keep me from becoming too […]