If he only knew what she was going through, he’d let her spend another afternoon curled up in bed with a book in her hands, checked out from the world. He couldn’t possibly comprehend the agony of being human, of working an uninspiring job, of constantly trying to live up to the overachievers surrounding you, of worrying and worrying and worrying about your parents, one of whom you don’t even know why you care about in the first place.
