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Death isn’t the end of a life, but the division of it. When someone dies, their soul scatters into all the things they’ve ever given away. Love. Bruises. Gifts. You struggle to piece together what’s left—even the things that hurt—just to feel haunted.
grief, I have learned, cracks us into pieces that make all sorts of strange, alarming shapes—
“Love has a weight,” Bria whispers. “And so does loss. Sometimes it can all be so heavy.
“Better to drown as myself than to breathe the air of someone else’s life and drown all the same.”
Just comes with knowing who you are and what you’re worth. It’s easy for people to perceive a threat, but that’s usually their own insecurity talking.”
“People tell on themselves all the time,” she whispers. “They tell you the truth about themselves, one way or another.”
The monsters worth fearing are the ones that are dangerous enough to hide in daylight.
