At least, the sun had the decency to stay the hell away from us.

Dreams change, yes, that makes sense, but I didn't know dreams could hide inside a person.

The architecture of my sister's thinking, now phantom. I fall down stairs that are nothing but air.

I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes when the grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe.

I could step out of this sad life like it's an old sorry dress.

Grief is forever. It doesn't go away; it becomes part of you, step for step, breath for breath.

Life’s a freaking mess… there’s not one truth ever, just a bunch of stories, all going on at once, in our heads, in our hearts, all getting in the way of each other. It’s all a beautiful calamitous mess.