Let your shortcomings and flaws fuel you. Let them push you further than you ever thought you could go. When you stop striving for perfection, you might as well be dead.
What difference did it make if she was whore. It sounded like ventriloquism to even say it. I hated labels anyway. People don’t fit in slots- prostitute, housewife, saint- like sorting the mail. We were so mutable, fluid with fear and desire, ideals and angles, changeable as water.
