My favorite color is black because I love the night sky, black licorice, and I feel sorry for the color black because no one ever chooses it as their favorite.
There are all kinds of ways for a relationship to be tested, even broken, some, irrevocably; it’s the endings we’re unprepared for.
Here’s what I know: death abducts the dying, but grief steals from those left behind.
I’ve told too many lies. I hold too many secrets. Who can I really trust? Who can trust me when I don’t even trust myself?
You can’t really hear heartbreak. It is remarkably silent but excruciating all the same.