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The dead absolutely fucking haunted you, running their cold fingertips of remember-me up the back of your neck until you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to scream from missing them…or from wanting to be left alone.
They stalked your nights and prowled your days, leaving a minefield of sorrow triggers in their path. They were your first and last thought, the filter you tried to push aside, the invisible barrier between you and everyone else. Sometimes, they were even more a part of you than the people in your life that you could actually touch and hold.
“Don’t feel responsible for something over which you have no control. It’s a recipe for stress that will make you insanely miserable.
When you were that young, when you had yet to face challenges that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend, your resilience knew no bounds. And there was where he wished to trade places with them.
Normally, Lassiter was the kind of guy who was so upbeat most folks couldn’t decide whether to shoot him to put everyone out of their misery…or just grab some popcorn and a Coke and watch the show. Because even if he pissed you off, it was always hella funny.
If Blay heard that shit from Frozen one more time, he was going to let it goooooooooooo, all right.
But here’s the thing, when people are that mad, they speak the truth. You can apologize all you want for being angry and screaming at me and all that shit. What you will never be able to take
back, however, is the fact that in that moment, in that split second, when you didn’t have the capacity to sugarcoat, or smooth over, or be nice…you put out there, for all to hear, what you actually believe.
Getting angry about the truth was just stupid. It was better to spend your time adapting to it. Far more logical, even if it made tears come to your eyes.
She was ready to talk more, hungry for the unexpected relief that came with someone understanding where she was at.
The angel had a flannel shirt tied around his waist. Blue jeans that were one trip through the wash away from losing their structural integrity. And a Nirvana shirt from the Saint Andrew’s Hall performance in Detroit on October 11, 1991.
“In the course of my life, I have learned that dreams are not what come
true. ’Tis only the nightmares that find you in real life. I had no real hope for this.”
Love was like life itself, she supposed. No matter how much of it you were blessed with, when the end came, it never felt like enough.
It was always better to follow a bumpy course of one’s own than a smooth but intractable trail set by another. The former was harder, yet far more vital. The latter was like a living death…except you didn’t know you were dying because you were in a coma.
