The Thinnest Air

by Minka Kent

We’re not meant to be best friends with every person who crosses our paths. Not everyone has our best interests at heart.

But my sister was tofu. Absorbing the characteristics of whoever has managed to capture her attention at that point in her life, assimilating herself and becoming what they want her to become because it makes them like her better. And I can’t blame her. It’s in our genetics. Our mother is tofu.

we don’t know the truth. And the truth couldn’t care less about what we want to believe.

I suppose we’re always deciding what we want to see in life and choosing how we’re going to see it.

Sometimes love is wonderful. Other times it’s poison.

A half-truth isn’t the same as a full lie, but it still feels wrong.

Monsters are real. They’re real, and they’re capable of doing the unspeakable. And they don’t hide under beds or in closets—they hide in plain sight. You just don’t always notice them.

We treat tragedies like entertainment, the American public priding ourselves on being armchair detectives trying to solve these crimes, but the second the sensationalism dies down and the case grows cold, we move on to the next exciting thing.