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Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same. —GEORGE R. R. MARTIN
People say time heals all wounds, but those people are assholes. Wounds like mine don’t heal. I’ve just learned to control the bleeding.
The worst thing about a missing person who’s never found is that those they leave behind can’t really mourn. They’re stuck in a perpetual twilight of unknowing. Unable to get closure, unable to properly grieve, they exist in a kind of numb limbo. Like perennials in winter, lying dormant under frozen ground.
“Home can be a person, too.
