Home Is Where the Bodies Are

by Jeneva Rose

Death waits for no one.

She told me flowers reminded her of life—beautiful, delicate, and short-lived.

There’s not many things you can count on in life, but that . . . is one thing you can count on. It will rise and it will fall—no matter what. Don’t matter if you’re sick or sad. Don’t matter if there is war or there is peace. Don’t matter if you see it or you don’t. That sun. You can count on it.

Her personality has always been all or nothing, which worries me sometimes. Zero or a hundred makes the middle, where everyday life exists, feel like a slump.

“The first to stand in your way. Other people are going to tell you no. They’re going to tell you that you can’t do something, you’re not good enough, you’re not worthy. You don’t need to do that. Don’t add to the noise. Because that’s all it is . . . noise. You be a voice, a voice for yourself.”

Addiction is like having your arm in a vise. You can’t loosen the grip. You can’t pull away. You just have to learn to live with it.

I think they’re tired of life. Sometimes life gets old before we do.

Resentment only poisons the person who consumes it, not the one it’s intended for.