Words can wound, and wounds can heal.

You attend the funeral, you bid the dead farewell. You grieve. Then you continue with your life. And at times the fact of her absence will hit you like a blow to the chest, and you will weep. But this will happen less and less as time goes on. She is dead. You are alive. So live.

It is neither fair nor unfair, Nobody Owens. It simply is

Never mind. There. For good or bad. It's done.

I don't believe in "writer's block". I try and deal with getting stuck by having more than one thing to work on at a time. And by knowing that even a hundred bad words that didn't exist before is forward progress.

She was the storm, she was the lightning, she was the adult world with all its power and all its secrets and all its foolish casual cruelty.

It doesn't matter that I can't remember the details any longer: death happened to her. Death happens to all of us.