I realize that sometimes death comes before you expect it. That while we are rarely prepared for our friends, family and loved ones to die, we are never prepared for our own deaths. Never prepared to reconcile our own regrets.
It's as if there is infinity between our lips and we will never actually touch. Like math, where dividing by half can last for eternity.
I know in my life there have been breaches, but I also know that I am very good at blocking out the memories that serve me no purpose.
I will always need you,' I whisper. 'All of this time I've waited for you. And you were never coming for me. Why did you let me wait for you?' (p. 257).
It wouldn't have mattered if they were scratches or not," he says, his voice like liquid. "I was bitten during the escape from the house." My limbs go weak, everything inside me folding in collapsing on itself. "I was already dead," he says, opening ...
Who are we if not the stories we pass down? What happens when there's no one left to tell those stories? To hear them? Who will ever know that I existed? What if we are the only ones left -- who will know our stories then? Who will remember those?
I imagine that's what it must have been like to ride the roller coaster back in the before time. One moment teetering at the top, the world laid out before you and the rush of life filling your lungs. . . and then the plummet. The lack of control. Th...
It's not about surviving. It should be about love. When you know love...that's what makes this life worth it. When you live with it everyday. Wake up with it, hold on to it during the thunder and after a nightmare. When love is your refuge from the d...
