"There are betrayals in my life that I have known at the very moment were betrayals: this was one of them. There are other betrayals committed so repeatedly, so mundanely, that they leave no memory trace behind, only a growing residue of misery, of dull, accreted self-hatred. Often these take the form not of words but of silence… Silence and then amnesia."

adrienne rich, “split at the root” (via beneathbixbybridge)

i remember everything about the first time i read this (1994).