How terrifying to see eternity when I look at you.
All the unflinching and unchambered pain and grief and joy and achievement in your years to come.
You’re all but too big a heart for your body, and all too shallow a breath for as much as you dive headfirst.

Once this scene plays out there’s no stopping the curtains descending.  So tell me what it means to be relatable and I’ll be the kind of character you can stand behind.

Either all in or pretending.

When people get into horrible car accidents, they’re usually killed on impact.
And they tell you that it was instantaneous and that your loved one felt no pain.
They don’t tell you that as they slammed against the steering wheel, their organs exploded and burst within their chests, that the air was choked straight out of their lungs by the belt that was meant to save them, and that they were dead before they even started to bleed.
They don’t tell you what happened to them. They just tell you that they were gone before they ever knew what hit them.
As if they’re protecting you.