Sometimes I Lie

by Alice Feeney

The dead are not so very far away when you really need them; they’re just on the other side of an invisible wall. Grief is only ever yours and so is guilt. It’s not something you can share.

History is a mirror and we’re all just older versions of ourselves; children disguised as adults.

We are all just ghosts of the people we hoped that we were and counterfeit replicas of the people we wanted to be.

Some people appear happy on the outside and you only know they’re broken inside if you listen as well as look.