There is nothing for you in this bleak hospital room but a cold and empty nothingness that has no answers, can give no peace, will provide no comfort to the living.
And when I look into his eyes there’s a feeling of something I can only describe as familiarity, a sense of safety. Like coming home.
Katherine,” he says when we finish. We’re breathing each other’s air and lying side by side, our noses almost touching. “Mick,” I say. “I love your name. It suits you perfectly. Katherine. Katherine. Katherine and Mick.” And when he say...
The trouble with words is that no matter how much sense they make in theory, they can’t change what you feel inside.
