72nd out of 532 books — 2,472 voters
He wasn’t just in my heart, he was my heart.
I cry for everyone I’ve hurt withdrawing from life. Mom never stops stroking my shoulder, or my hair, a gentle contact anchoring me. I pull in a slow, deep cooling breath and realize the hurt has lessened. I feel scraped and stinging inside, gutted like the jack-o’-lantern sitting on the ground outside the clinic door. Except somewhere in the aching emptiness I see a spark, a flicker of my own, the light Daniel would’ve wanted me to finally find.