There’s a hollow where he used to be, and it echoes with self-imposed loss.

The whole world is like Whitewall's razors I burst out. It cuts us, and we bleed but there's no purpose to it.

Did he die well?" No, I thought. Nobody did. They just died.

We stand a professional distance apart, as if I can’t feel his pain screaming in my head. Mine amplifies his; they share a joint sound—that of glass breaking—until they swell to a crescendo that deafens.

You can live without me." "I don't want to." I feared a love like this - that made us incomplete without each other. It was beautiful but treacherous, like snow that looked white and pure and lovely from the safety of your window, but when you stepped out to touch the softness, the cold first stole your breath, and then your will to move, until you could just lay down in it and let the numbness take you. yet I didn't want to be without him either, so I didn't chide him for the statement.

With a polite smile, I decided she was insane.

Because it takes more courage to heal the world's hurts than to inflict them.