Under the Whispering Door

by T.J. Klune

Noise meant he wasn’t alone, no matter where he was. Here, the silence was all-consuming, suffocating.

If we worry about the little things all the time, we run the risk of missing the bigger things.”

The first time you share tea, you are a stranger. The second time you share tea, you are an honored guest.

The third time you share tea, you become family.

“Are there ghost plants?” Hugo stared at him, mouth agape. Wallace scowled at him. “Don’t give me that look. You told me to ask questions.” Hugo closed his mouth as he shook his head. “No, it’s not—I’ve never thought about it that way. Curious.” He squinted up at Wallace. “I like where your mind goes.” Wallace looked away.

I can’t grieve for myself.” Hugo shook his head slowly. “Of course you can. We do it all the time, regardless of if we’re alive or not, over the small things and the big things. Everyone is a little bit sad all the time.

Death isn’t a final ending, Wallace. It is an ending, sure, but only to prepare you for a new beginning.”

Death has a beauty to it. We don’t see it because we don’t want to. And that makes sense. Why would we want to focus on something that takes us away from everything we know? How do we even begin to understand that there’s more than what we see?”

Hugo looked him up and down, and Wallace fidgeted uncomfortably. “You’re not so bad.” “Please, stop. You’re far too kind. I can’t stand it. How on earth are you still single with ammunition like that up your sleeve?” Hugo squinted at him. “You think that’s what I’d say?” Abort. Abort. Abort. “Uh. I don’t … know?” “Multitudes,” he said again as if that explained everything. He glanced at Hugo, relieved he was ignoring Wallace’s awkwardness. “Is that a good thing?” “I think so.”

Wallace whispered, “It’s easy to let yourself spiral and fall.” “It is,” Nelson agreed. “But it’s what you do to pull yourself out of it that matters most.”

“Was that a compliment, Hugo?” “It was,” Hugo said simply.

Anxiety is … a betrayal, my brain and body working against me.”

“It’s never enough, is it? Time. We always think we have so much of it, but when it really counts, we don’t have enough at all.”

“I need this,” Wallace said plainly. “And I want it to be with you.”

They were Wallace and Hugo, dead and alive. A great chasm stretched between them.

You reminded me that it was okay to hurt so long as I didn’t let it consume me.