Rachael Lippincott

What’s the point? I’ll die or they will, and this cycle of people dying and people grieving will just continue.

Poe pushed everyone away so he wouldn’t hurt them, but it didn’t make a bit of difference. Michael is still sitting on his bed, crushed, the weeks they could have had together spiraling through his head. Whether I die now or ten years from now, my parents will be crushed. And all I’ll have done is make myself miserable focusing on a few extra breaths.

I laugh, making a snow angel too, my whole body cold from the snow, but warm from the moment.