Passion Project

by London Sperry

On one hand, I don’t have anything else to do in the foreseeable future besides several depression naps and a Netflix marathon. On the other hand, depression naps and Netflix marathons are my safe space.

The smaller and smaller my world becomes, the more daunting it is to try to move out of the hurt. I feel close to Sam in my grief. It’s the only thing I have left of him.

I want to preserve it for him, to preserve it for myself. Because pictures are reality. Even if his reality is…changing.”

“Why do you have to be such a good person all the time?” I sling the bag over my shoulder. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.” “Maybe I’m actually a terrible person.” He slams the car door shut. “And I just have a soft spot for you.”

Here, I’m broken, but in a beautiful way, in a way that all my pieces reflect light and color, not darkness.