Because maybe it's in the stories that the people we love are still alive.
I risk a grin at the thought. Because there's a part of me that likes that idea. Get out of town and never look back. 
No, I am not all right, I want to say. Have you been to my house? Have you seen how empty it is?
Why she was the happy one when she was dying, and I just can't seem to manage anything when I'm living.
But I don't feel like dealing because dealing requires too much energy, and energy is what I lack.
As you see, context is everything and nothing at the same time. Words stand alone and with each other. 
You're not the same. You're not supposed to be the same. You're supposed to be different. This isn't something you will ever forget. 
Do you need anything?" she asks. A mom A dad. Someone. Anyone. Can you arrange for that? "Nah, I'm good. 
I would be a freak with you anytime, anywhere. 
Get away from my house and all its rooms that echo, all the rooms I don't enter anymore. 
Another deserted sentence. Another side effect of death. Words go AWOL. 
He gets that sometimes you just need to guard the door without knowing why 
Sometimes, when we are sad, we have to do the opposite of sad. Sometimes we have to sing. 
I was exactly the person I am not. 
Nothing is ever enough. 