I’m trying to remember this woman (she once defended her own honor at 12-years-old and was told by her great-grandmother not to bow to a church she didn’t believe in… She seemed fearless). She said once:

“I believe in books, politics, honesty, writing, sex, history, blogging, trust, choice, public displays of affection, God, the strength of a well chosen word, fantasy, pride, film, forever, hugs, shoes, the power of touch, possibility, hope, family, love, and music. I love intensely; I leave marks; I burn bright. I’m proud of the work I’ve done; I’m still young; I have so much more to do.”

Didn’t she once decide to move to Cuba, and then go and do it? I remember so well, when she first moved to D.C., sneaking downstairs at night to put on pointe shoes and dance on the stage of the amphitheater as if she owned it. The lights shining down, the warm air… She was someone who wore short skirts because she felt strong in them; who never wanted to sleep because it would mean missing out on whatever happened next.

Now it seems like she simply can’t sleep at night, for what reason she has no clue.