My dear friend is a crone. Not an ugly, withered woman. No, she entered cronehood with ample wisdom, dignity, and poise. She entered cronehood with a croning, a sacred, near metaphysical ritual where a small group of women honor the crone and her journey. “But it’s also very much about sharing your knowledge and wisdom with other women,” the invite read.
Read MoreI spotted you leaning against a pillar under the Washington Square arch, in men’s clothes, and with a bigger frame. You were stocky, and your face seemed wider. You’d gained weight, and your straight blond hair was dyed blue and cut short, like a Marine.
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