“It won’t kill you to let go, even if it feels like it.” She pauses meaningfully. “But it will kill you if you keep it all inside.” She goes to turn, when I stop her with my next words. “What happens after?” Meeting my gaze, she smiles softly, sadly. “You keep going.” And with that, she disappears into the living room, shutting the door behind her. And to an empty room, I say, “What if there’s nothing left?”
