Sometimes, there no getting over it. Sometimes, you lived with the empty place inside of you until you imploded on it, loss as singularity, or until the empty place expanded and hollowed out the rest of you so thoroughly you became the walking dead, a ghost in your own life.
Caitlin Kittredge
loss bereavement grief
You're in my blood like poison. And I'd die because of you.
jack
In a platonic and boring fashion, is it all right if I share your fire until me clothes dry out? I have a feeling if I fall asleep damp I'll wake up with some horrid Victorian disease.
You must log in to post a comment.
There are no comments yet.