at this workshop thing that i went to this weekend one of the women introduced herself and her writing by saying she was “writing a self-assigned thesis on heartbreak.” later, when we all did an exercise describing how we were feeling that day, she wrote about being an empty glass bowl on the edge of a high shelf in a room with a concrete floor. when my friend who i went to the workshop with read her own piece from that assignment, she made herself cry. why are we not always sitting in rooms creating and sharing and crying and feeling? that’s all i ever want, most of the time. and i think that’s predominantly what tumblr is for me, virtually.