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put “busy” center stage, and grief can only ever hover in the wings.
But in this moment, I love him. So does Grace. So does Purple Pants.
“If you don’t tell people about it, the writing dream stays untested,” my grief counselor once told me. “It stays intact.”
“Have you ever felt homesick for somewhere you’ve never lived?”
It’s not intimacy that scares me. It’s loss.
Why would I willingly place myself into a reckless position where I risk that happening again?
Decided it wasn’t better to have loved and lost—it was much worse.
