![]() ![]() He spent almost an hour “just chatting” with my mom. He doesn’t need me to tell him about that. But I don’t, because if I talk, then he wins. “We’re not all the same,” I want to shout. I hate people like that, people who think they know what you need to hear, people who think they can read your mind, anticipate your responses. ![]() Since I don’t feel like talking, he’s talking for both of us. Guilt because you know you’re not any better than those who died. Guilt because you wonder if the Universe made a mistake. Then the sad part beats up the happy part until nothing is left, until all you feel is terrible sorrow for the people who didn’t make it. Part of you is happy because you’re alive, but the rest of you is devastated. There’s a thing that sometimes happens in your brain when you’re the only survivor of a horrific accident. May your Universe be filled with friendship and love. ![]()
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