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Her whole life, a bounty of gifts she hadn’t deserved.
in reference to white privilege
“White.” “No,” Stella said. “Free.” Desiree laughed. “Same thing, baby.”
That was the thing about death. Only the specifics of it hurt. Death, in a general sense, was background noise. She stood in the silence of it.
Her death hit in waves. Not a flood, but water lapping steadily at her ankles. You could drown in two inches of water. Maybe grief was the same.
