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A son’s first love is always for his mother, that’s what they say isn’t it?
A mother’s offspring stays with her for life. They mourn their dead.
You only get one life, she used to say, before all our friends started dying, so you better make it fucking count.
At least I’m here. A face, a voice. The world wants to silence and disappear us. Well, here I am. Look at me.
Why do people always think heaven is in the sky? Why can’t it be in the ocean?
Most of the ocean is still a mystery, like outer space.
We live our lives not realizing which moments are special or which are ordinary—what will we remember, what memories will we try to grab onto, to hold close? All of these moments that make up a life.
Why does anyone go home? You come back to be seen, to be accepted, and to be loved.
“This is the only thing we have to do. Take care of him.”
The things people
said, the way they acted. They helped kill his son. His silence. He helped kill his son.
