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They’d had their share of sorrow just as she had, and were well versed in the unpredictable way grief operated inside a soul.
“That’s just your nature. So what, you’re quiet and sensitive. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It doesn’t make you a bad person. Hell, it doesn’t even make you all that unique.”
“You’re not going to be famous for it. But it will matter, to someone, somewhere. Either in this lifetime or another. There’s a place for quiet people in this world. This seems like a pretty good one, even if it is slipping away.”
Write for yourself, not for someone else, not for an audience. If you truly love to write, if you have to write, you’ll do it even if no one else ever sees it.
She liked people, but if she could be invisible, if she could be a part of things without the pressure of having to talk, she would.
She gave Alma a tattered index card and a long hug that felt like being wrapped in a gentle tornado.
