you never forget your first fall.
Was there a language of loss? Did everyone who suffered speak a different dialect?
If you want to know someone's story, they have to tell it aloud. But every time, the telling is a little but different. It's new, even to me.
What she couldn't put into word was what had happened in between to change her from one person into the other
What you didn't tell someone was just as debilitating as what you did.
Who spit in your porridge?