Judgment as sport, whether fictional or not, has taken an undeniable toll on me, a weight that’s likely even more caustic than any encounter with some hallucinated demon. Or a real demon.
“Grief was a hole. A portal to nothing. Grief was a walk so long Hazel forgot her own legs. It was a shock of blinding sun. A burst of remembering: sandals on pavement, a sleepy back seat, nails painted on the bathroom floor. Grief was a loneliness that felt like a planet.”
― Notes on an Execution
― Notes on an Execution
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