My mom was there, in some form, in some sense, in some universe. My mom was still my mom, even if she only lived in books and door locks and the smell of fried tomatoes and old paper. She lived.
Maybe it needed to be broken. Sometimes things have to break before you can fix them.
The story you are afraid to write is usually the one you are meant to tell.
I love her beyond the universe and back. I love her from this world to the next.
Don't run away. Im not running away. Im already gone. -Lena and Ethan
At least no one's trying to kill anyone. Give them about fifteen minutes